


I Wanna Be Yours

by sneetchstar



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, One Shot, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2020-07-12 15:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 38,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19948231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: Gendrya one-shot collection.  Ratings vary.  Stories containing smut are marked accordingly.





	1. Summer Cottage

“Are you gay?”

The question startles Gendry out of his reverie, a stubborn, self-induced stupor he had imposed on himself to try to ignore the tiny person currently sharing the deck on which he had chosen to sit.

He came out in an attempt to forget that she was there. Only her, none of her siblings or their friends or parents. They had all gone down to the lake for a swim.

Gendry had woken that morning with a migraine and said he was going to stay back and wait it out.

It’s much better now, but when he decided to remain there instead of joining them, he hadn’t realized _she_ also decided to stay at the cottage.

Arya Stark. Demon and goddess in one compact package.

“No,” he answers, not looking at her.

“Asexual?”

Now he looks at her. “No. Why do you care?”

Her eyebrows rise. “It’s no big deal if you are, you know. It’s the 21st century. As long as everyone consents—”

“I am a cisgendered, heteroromantic heterosexual who identifies as male,” he says, cutting her off. “I like women. Am _attracted_ to women. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says, holding up her hands in surrender. “Jeez, I didn’t expect you to be so sensitive about it.”

“I didn’t expect to be interrogated while I was relaxing on the deck,” he grumbles, turning to face straight ahead again.

“Pssh,” she blows. “You’re so grumpy all the time. Maybe that’s why you’re single.”

He looks at her. “Maybe. You’re single too, you know.”

“But it’s not because I’m grumpy.”

“No, it’s because you’re a giant pain in the arse disguised as a very small person.”

She smiles like she’s a little proud of that fact. “At least I can admit it,” she says.

“I know I’m grumpy. Some girls like a brooding man,” he says.

“Margaery certainly seems to,” she comments after a minute. Margaery came as Sansa’s guest. Gendry was Jon’s. Arya chose not to bring anyone. Her family alone is enough of a crowd for her.

He’s not sure about what he hears in her tone, but warning bells start quietly chiming in his head. _Be careful, Gendry._ “Does she? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Then you’re as stupid as you are grumpy. Or blind,” Arya replies, frowning as she remembers Margaery flouncing past in a very revealing bikini this morning.

“Is there anything else you want to insult me about?” he asks, his tone annoyed.

“She’s practically been throwing herself at you,” she says, ignoring his question and his demeanor. “Jeyne Poole would give you a tumble too,” she adds, and now it is Arya’s turn to sound grumpy.

“Not my type,” he quietly replies, knowing he is treading dangerous ground.

“Really? How is Margaery Tyrell not your type? She’s everyone’s type. I’d even consider it, and I’m not gay either,” she says.

“Yeah, she’s very pretty, but… eh,” he shrugs. “And Jeyne is cute, I guess, but it’s hard to think of her as attractive once you get to know her as a person and find out that she’s a cunt,” he replies.

Arya snorts a very unladylike laugh at that. “So not Margaery or Jeyne,” she says. “Sansa?”

“She’s dating that huge Clegane guy, which you know because she’s your sister,” he replies.

“But if she wasn’t?”

“No. She’s too high maintenance for me. Why are you—”

“Meera?”

“She likes Bran.”

“Osha?”

“Too crazy.”

“True. Myrcella?”

“Um, have you _met_ Cersei and Joffrey? No thanks.”

“Fair point. Yara?”

“She _is_ gay.”

“Really? Wow, how did you know that but I didn’t?”

“Good question. Look, is there a point to this or what?”

“Just trying to unlock the puzzle that is Gendry Waters, confirmed bachelor,” she pronounces. “I mean, why are you single, really? You’re not an awful person by any stretch. I mean, come on, Theon gets girls, and he’s fucking _Theon_. Even my broody-ass half-brother has Ygritte, which I’ll never figure out, because she is like literal sunshine and I love him, but he was emo before emo was a thing. Like, what is your type actually? Do you even have a type? What kind of girl would make you sit up and take no—”

“You, all right?” he yells, sitting up straight and turning towards her. “ _You_ are my fucking type! I’m not interested in Margaery or any of those other girls because I can’t get _your_ annoying arse out of my head!”

She stares at him, wide-eyed, for about five seconds before one eyebrow rises and her lips curl into the barest of smiles. When she stands and begins walks towards him, it is his turn to stare with wide eyes.

Arya stands in front of him, and Gendry has to look up at her for a change. He does so readily, because the alternative would mean staring straight at her tits, which he definitely cannot handle right now.

“And you haven’t done anything about this why?” she asks, thoroughly enjoying watching his brain short-circuit right in front of her.

“Your brothers would kill me,” he manages, his voice low and raspy.

She leans down and kisses him, her hand on his neck holding his head in place in case he tries to escape.

Escape is the furthest thing from his mind as his hands wrap around her back, fingers bunching the material of her tank top as he surrenders to her kiss.

When she thrusts her tongue into his mouth, he eagerly meets it with his own. He groans and pulls her down onto the chair with him, but then she pulls away for just long enough to say, “Let me worry about my brothers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really know nothing about Jeyne at all (I've seen the show but only just started reading the books), but she is often portrayed as not being very nice, so I went with it.


	2. Delayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their flight to Winterfell was canceled...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains smut
> 
> Special thanks to spartanlady16 for her brainstorming help!

“Drogon Airlines would like to thank all of you for your patience, but we regret to inform you that flight 181 to Winterfell has been canceled due to inclement weather in the Northern Province. Please see your gate agent for rescheduling.”

“Canc—” Gendry starts, but Arya is already making a beeline for the desk, determined to be among the first to get there. She must have been already moving before the announcement was over. He groans, stands, and walks over to join her.

She is second in line, and he is impressed. She’s always been a speedy, stealthy little thing.

“Call Robb. I’ll handle this,” she says, barely glancing up at him.

“How did you—”

“As soon as she thanked us for our patience, I was up,” she interjects, answering the question before he can even ask it. Another one of her scarily impressive skills. Knowing she might be about to put some serious _hurt_ on the poor gate agent, he smirks and walks to the side, pulling out his phone.

“Yes, how can I help you?” the agent asks, fake smile plastered on her overly made-up face.

“You can put my companion and me on the next available flight to Winterfell, that’s how. My brother is getting married tomorrow, and we’re in the wedding, so we kind of need to be there. We’re already going to miss the rehearsal because of this,” Arya says, polite but firm. Not smiling.

“Of course. We have… an 8 a.m. flight, but… all that’s available is first class,” she says.

“So put us in first class then.”

“It will cost an extra…” she pauses, sees the look on Arya’s face, and clears her throat. “Of course. We will be happy to offer you both a free upgrade due to the inconvenience.”

Arya nods.

“Names?”

“Arya Stark. And Gendry Baratheon,” she answers, leaning forward so her voice won’t carry too far. She hates throwing her name around, and hates it even more when people think she is throwing her name around.

To her credit, the agent only blinks twice, makes an uneasy glance in Gendry’s direction, and nods, burying her face in her screen.

Arya sighs in annoyance. Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon are two of Westeros’ most well-known and well-respected men. Ned is beloved for his preservation and humanitarian efforts in the Northern Province, creating a sanctuary for endangered direwolves as well as protecting the rights and lands of the indigenous people who live there. General Robert Baratheon was respected and feared as the greatest military leader the country has ever known. He was the queen’s right-hand man until his death two years ago.

Gendry saw the agent’s uneasy glance and smiled, knowing full well that the poor woman is dealing with the more frightening of the two of them. He barely knew his father; his mother divorced him shortly after his birth and managed to get full custody. He knows he looks like the young version of his father, but he knows his personality is nothing like his was.

Arya, on the other hand, is a tornado in a tiny body: quick, deadly, and able to inflict maximum damage in a short period of time. “We also need a place to stay tonight,” he hears her say as he walks back over.

The gate agent looks up. “Pardon me?”

“A hotel,” Arya says. “We came from the university, so that means we had to take the ferry from the island and then an Uber to get here. We’re not going back _now_ to have to come _back_ tomorrow. And do you think he,” she gestures to Gendry, “would be comfortable sleeping in one of those chairs? No.”

“I… I’ll see what I can do,” she says, picking up a phone and turning away from them.

“Robb says hello. He says it’s a hell of a blizzard up there, but it should be done by the early hours,” Gendry says.

“She got us a flight at eight tomorrow morning,” she tells him. “Upgraded us to first class, too.”

“Nice,” Gendry says, smiling down at her. She looks away, but he continues to gaze down at her, wondering at this person he’s known for eight years. She was a girl of twelve when he met her, his mate Robb’s younger sister. Tiny and always in the way. Always wanting to do what her older siblings were doing and usually succeeding at it.

Somewhere along the line, she turned into a startlingly beautiful woman, a woman that Gendry hasn’t been able to get out of his head since he decided to go to graduate school and found himself at the University of Dorne, where Arya Stark was a sophomore.

It made sense for them to travel back to Winterfell together for Robb and Talisa’s wedding. It did not make sense for there to be a blizzard in April, but that’s the North. There have been flurries as late as May some years.

Having grown up in the rather more temperate capitol city of King’s Landing, Gendry doesn’t much enjoy the cold weather. But Robb has been his best mate since they were randomly thrown together as roommates for their freshman year at university, so of course he said yes when he was asked to be a groomsman in his wedding.

Arya is a bridesmaid, and by some random twist of fate, they are even paired up in the wedding party, Gendry third in line after Jon and Theon, Arya after Ygritte and Sansa.

“What?” Gendry asks, realizing Arya must have asked him something because she is staring expectantly at him.

“Were they okay with us missing the rehearsal?” she repeats.

He shrugs. “Seemed to be. I mean, what can they do about it? It’s a fucking blizzard,” he answers.

“All right, you’re all set,” the gate agent says, hanging up the phone. “It wasn’t easy, what with the geologist convention in town, but I found you a room.” She gives them her fake smile again, clearly hoping for praise.

“Good,” Arya answers. “And we’re supposed to get there how?”

“We can get an Uber,” Gendry offers. Arya opens her mouth to argue, but the agent speaks up before she can.

“There will be a car waiting to take you there. It will pick you up at 6:30 tomorrow morning as well,” she tells them.

Arya smiles now, a real one. “Thank you,” she says.

The gate agent tells them where the car is, and they head for the doors.

“That’s all you’re bringing?” Gendry asks, just now noticing the backpack Arya has slung on her back. He has a duffel bag that pushes the limits of what is an allowable size for a carry-on.

“Winterfell is my home. I have stuff there,” she says. “My dress is there already; I was fit for it ages ago. And I’m not Sansa.”

Gendry snorts a laugh, understanding her meaning. He likes Sansa just fine, but she and Arya are like night and day. “Right,” he says. “I think this is it,” he adds, pointing to the black sedan parked just outside the doors.

xXx

The hotel is… unconventional. It looks like a relic from about two generations ago. Not only that, but there is a giant metal dragon on the lawn in front of it. It appears to be hollow and there is a staircase leading up to it, so clearly it is supposed to be some sort of attraction.

“You’re certain you have the correct place?” Gendry asks.

“Yes, sir. Not many rooms available this weekend, what with the convention in town,” the driver answers. “This place is older, but I haven’t heard anything bad about it.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess,” Gendry replies.

“You’ll be here at 6:30 then?” Arya asks as she steps out of the car, the driver holding her door open for her.

“Someone will be,” he answers. She nods and slips a folded bill into his hand with a word of thanks.

“Did you tip him?” Gendry softly asks, not sure if he saw correctly.

“Yes. He was nice. You should tip drivers,” she answers.

He rolls his eyes. “I know that. I was going to, but then I thought I saw you do it, so I didn’t, and I was just checking to make sure that I saw correctly,” he explains. “Hello,” he immediately says, turning to the woman behind the desk. “We have a reservation. Someone at the airport called a short time ago.”

“Baratheon?” the desk clerk asks, looking at him. “Is that… is that correct?”

“Yes,” Gendry says, trying not to sound too exasperated. One of the things he has in common with Arya.

“Of course she would put it under your name,” Arya mutters, leaning her back against the front desk. “Sexist twat.”

Gendry glances down at her, not sure if he should laugh or shush her.

“All right. Here is your key.” She slides an actual metal key on a plastic key chain across the desk, and a surprised Gendry picks it up. She directs them to their room, and bids them good night.

“Wow. I… don’t remember the last time I stayed in a hotel that had a _key_ key, not a keycard,” Gendry says, trying to ignore the tension in the air between them. He idly twirls the key in his hand as they walk down a hallway with the ugliest carpet in Westeros.

“I don’t know that I have ever stayed in a hotel that didn’t have a keycard,” Arya remarks, peeking sideways up at him. “And if this place isn’t haunted, it’s sure doing a good impression of one that is.”

He laughs, but his laughter abruptly stops as he begins noticing something on the walls.

“What?” she asks.

He points at the room they are passing. There is a placard on the wall beside the door that says “Cave Room.”

“What the…?” she comments, looking across the hall. “Underwater Paradise,” she reads. Warning bells begin ringing in her head. “What kind of hotel is this?”

“The only one with any vacancy in all of Dorne, apparently,” he says. “Oh, shit.” He points. “Dungeon Room” is on the sign, and he quickly looks at the number on the keychain. “Oh, thank the Seven.”

Arya laughs, and they simultaneously decide to begin entertaining themselves as they walk down the hall, because it’s better than walking in charged silence. “Blue Room… Boring,” she declares.

“Jungle Room. Sounds… humid,” Gendry remarks.

“Enchanted Forest. And have wood nymphs all up in your business? No thanks,” she says.

“Hey, Winter Wonderland! Too bad we don’t have that one, Arry! It would be just like home for you!” Gendry teases, earning himself a surprisingly hard punch on his shoulder.

“Don’t call me ‘Arry,’” she says, scowling at his use of her childhood nickname. Then she stops cold. “What is our room number?”

“It’s 231. What is our fate?”

She takes a few steps to the next door on her side of the corridor. He follows close behind. “Pirate’s Cove,” they read in unison, voices soft and slightly wary.

They stare at the sign for a moment longer, then each other for a second, then turn to face the door.

“Yarr?” Gendry tries.

“Just open the door, Stupid,” Arya says.

He shoves the key into the lock and briefly struggles with the old mechanism before the door opens.

“There is a whole pirate ship in this room,” Arya declares.

“And the bed is in the middle of it,” Gendry adds.

 _The_ bed. There is only one.

There is also a blue, heart-shaped bathtub in the room, surrounded by fake rocks and ocean life, perhaps trying to make it look like a lagoon. Arya is surprised there isn’t a mermaid painted on the wall, or worse, a mermaid statue lounging on the rocks. _Maybe she’s in the Underwater Paradise room_ , she thinks.

She drops her backpack and walks further into the room, then disappears into the bathroom. “At least that’s normal,” she says.

“That’s not the only bathing option, is it?” he asks, pointing at the blue tub.

“There’s a stand-up shower in there,” she answers.

“Good. Um…” he starts and then stops, not sure how to address the elephant in the room (an elephant with a peg leg and a parrot on its shoulder). He nervously glances at the pirate ship.

“It’s a big bed,” she says, guessing his thoughts again. She manages to look in his direction but not actually _at_ him. “And you may be big, but I’m small. You won’t even know I’m there.”

He turns away so she can’t see the blush rising to his cheeks. “If you say so,” he mutters, bending over his duffel bag, rummaging for his workout shorts so he has something to sleep in besides his boxer briefs, which is what he usually wears to bed.

“Shit,” Arya whispers as she digs into her backpack. She sighs, pulls out her laptop, and opens it.

“What’s wrong?” Gendry asks.

She looks up at him. “I don’t have pajamas,” she answers after a moment.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I mean why?”

“I told you already. Winterfell is home. I have pajamas there, so I didn’t pack any.” She looks at him a second. Then a second longer; almost too long. “Give me your t-shirt,” she says.

He looks down at his shirt like he’s surprised he’s wearing one. But, sure enough, he is. A lovely soft black t-shirt emblazoned with the name of his favorite footie team, the King’s Landing Gold Cloaks. It’s his favorite t-shirt.

“I can… I can give you a clean one,” he stammers.

“Then you’ll be down one shirt. I’m fine with that one. It’s just for sleeping,” she says, keeping her eyes trained on her laptop, her face carefully neutral. She doesn’t want to give away the fact that she definitely wants the shirt he’s been wearing all day because it will smell like him. He always smells as delicious as he looks, which is extremely. She is not going to pass up this opportunity. She just needs to be cool about it.

“All right,” he gives up, knowing deep down that there is no way he could ever refuse her. She could demand to wear his duffel bag and he’d happily hand it over and ask if she needed holes cut into it for her arms and legs. But she doesn’t need to know that. “What are you looking at?” he asks, trying to change the subject as he walks over to where she is perched on the edge of the bed. “Seven Hells, this is weird,” he declares, looking up at the faux ship built around the king sized bed.

“Just checking the blizzard up north,” she says. “See?” she points, “It’s almost past.”

“Good,” he comments, leaning over to look at her screen. They are very close for a few seconds, and they both feel the air growing charged around them, but neither knows the other feels it too. “Um, it’s getting late and we need to be up early, so… I’m just going to… I think… shower,” he says, standing up and walking towards his bag.

“Leave your shirt,” she says, hoping she doesn’t sound too eager.

He yanks the shirt off and tosses it at her head. She quickly pulls it off of her face just so she can watch his muscled torso move as he gathers some things to take with him into the bathroom.

When the door clicks closed, she flops back on the bed and puts the shirt back to her face, inhaling deeply, then groaning.

Gendry, in the bathroom, leans against the door for a second, eyes closed. “Just one night. She’ll probably be tucked into the bed, sleeping, by the time you go back out,” he whispers to himself.

It’s going to be a long night.

xXx

She isn’t sleeping when he emerges from the shower, still shirtless and rubbing his short hair with a towel.

She’s staring, wide-eyed, at her laptop, with her hand over her mouth. Wearing his shirt. He fervently hopes she has knickers on underneath.

“What is it?” he asks, tossing the towel aside.

“Oh, you have to see this,” she says. “I looked this place up online and there are _pictures_ of the other rooms.” He hurries over and she hands him the laptop. “Knock yourself out. I’m going to get ready for bed.”

He is both relieved and disappointed when she leaves him to go take her turn in the bathroom.

However, he does take advantage, watching her walk away from him, eyes glued to her toned thighs.

Arya shuts herself in the bathroom, grateful that this isn’t one of those hotels where the sink is outside the bathroom door. She brushes her teeth and is about to wash her face, but decides to just shower now instead of in the morning. She can sleep just a little bit longer then.

She’s positive Gendry will be asleep when she comes back out, but he, too, surprises her by being awake. He is under the covers, but the television is on and he’s scrolling on his phone, her closed laptop on the bed beside him.

“You’re still awake,” she dumbly comments.

“Still a bit wound up,” he replies, barely looking up from his phone. “Your phone went off a few times while you were in.”

“I decided to shower tonight too,” she says, walking to her phone. “Sansa. She says the boys just went out for round three of clearing the snow. Sent a photo.”

“Shit,” Gendry comments, warily eyeing her as she walks towards the bed. “How do you live like that?” he asks when she shows him the photo.

She shrugs. “You get used to it,” she says. “This is weird,” she comments, pausing at the edge of the bed. “You look like the world’s lamest pirate.” In truth, he looks extremely sexy and inviting, all bare chest and blue eyes and white sheets.

He stares at her as she hesitates beside the bed in his t-shirt, her hair in a single braid. He’s never going to be able to even look at that shirt the same way again.

“What?” she asks, immediately defensive.

“You… you look good. I mean… that shirt suits you somehow,” he says, flushing beet red.

She bites her lip, heart suddenly racing. Then her automatic defense mechanism kicks in and she deflects with a joke. “Too bad the Cloaks are a crap team,” she says. “The Wolves kick their asses every time.”

“Not _every_ time,” he retorts. “Just… most of the time.”

Arya laughs and, tension once again broken, finally climbs into bed, sliding between the cool sheets. Thankfully, they smell and feel clean.

“I’m exhausted. Um, goodnight, I guess,” she says, turning on her side, facing away from him.

“Goodnight, Arya,” he softly replies. “Do you want me to turn off the TV or some lights or anything?” he asks.

“’m good,” she mumbles, already half asleep.

He sighs smiling. The Starks always sleep like the dead. He wishes his DNA had that trait.

After a short time, Gendry’s eyes start feeling heavy. He turns everything off and settles down to sleep as well.

xXx

Arya wakes some hours later. She is roasting and sweaty, and is having trouble moving. She squirms, feels arms tighten around her, and suddenly remembers.

Gendry. She’s in bed with Gendry.

She’s in bed with Gendry, and he’s got himself wrapped around her, her foot trapped between his legs, his arm around her torso, and his hand wedged between her breasts.

She can feel the soft puff of his breath on the back of her neck. She can feel the hard planes of his muscled chest behind her back. She can feel the rigid length of his sleeping erection pressing against her ass.

She’s been with enough guys to know what an hard-on feels like against her bum, and she can tell that Gendry’s got something impressive lurking inside his shorts. Not fully awake yet, she arches her back without thinking, pushing her butt against him.

He groans and her eyes fly open, realization of what she has just done dawning on her. She stills, hoping he won’t wake up.

The fingers of his hand between her breasts flex, lightly squeezing the soft mound. He also flexes his hips into her.

She holds her breath now, her heart pounding. A flood of warmth pools in her traitorous groin, and she bites her lip.

“Arya…” He moans her name. It isn’t clear but it’s definitely her name.

_Is it possible?_

Emboldened by his sleeping confession, she presses her ass against his cock again, this time swirling her hips a little.

He groans again, and his thumb skates over her nipple.

She gasps, and _that_ is what wakes him up.

He is immediately a flurry of limbs, curse words, and flying sheets.

“Shit fuck fuck fuck I’m sorry I was sleeping and must have moved over in my sleep I didn’t know what I was doing I was _asleep_ I would never—”

“Wouldn’t you?” Arya interjects his rambling apology, trying not to laugh.

“What?” he asks, blinking as he stares down at her. She is still lying down, looking completely unbothered, while he is sitting up, looking sleep-rumpled mortified.

“Would you really never?” she asks, slowly reaching out with one hand. Her fingers trail over the warm skin of the arm on which he is leaning.

He swallows. “You’re my best mate’s sister,” he says. It sounds weak even to him.

“That’s not an answer to the question I asked.”

“You’re… too young.”

“I’m 20 years old. And that still isn’t an answer to my question.” Her hand lands on his chest and he sharply inhales.

“I’m 26,” he dumbly says. His hand comes to land over hers, but he doesn’t remove it.

“I know,” she answers. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.” Even in the dark of their weird room, she can see the conflict and arousal on his face.

His thumb strokes the back of her hand. “Robb will kill me. Probably your cousin Jon, too,” he whispers. Then, surprising her, he lifts her hand to his lips and kisses her fingertips.

“Robb and Jon are not the bosses of me,” she replies, raising an eyebrow at him. “They’ve learned that I do what I want regardless of their wishes.”

He closes his eyes for a second, then opens them again. “Gods, you’re so beautiful,” he blurts, looking relieved to finally get that out. “I… when I saw you at uni after all those years…” he turns her hand and kisses her palm, then the inside of her wrist. “I couldn’t believe this beautiful woman I was staring at was you.”

He remembers it as clear as day. She was in line at a popular coffee shop on campus. It was hot out, and she was wearing a cropped halter top and _very_ short shorts. Her skin looked as soft as silk and his fingers tingled as he imagined touching her.

“I couldn’t believe you were staring,” she says. She is currently staring at her hand and how he keeps bringing it to his lips.

His eyes widen. “You… you noticed that?”

She remembers that day, too, only she had the advantage of knowing he was going to be on campus. Robb had mentioned it. So while she wasn’t surprised, she was _very_ intrigued. He looked good. Really good. His shirt was just tight enough to highlight muscles that weren’t that big the last time she saw him. Eyes as blue as they had always been, black hair artfully mussed. She just wanted to climb him. She may or may not have made sure he got a good view of her.

She sits up and puts her other hand on his chest. “I’m your best mate’s 20-year-old sister, but I’m not blind, Stupid,” she says. Then, before he can say anything in response, she lifts up on her knees and kisses him, warmth flooding through her when he leans in to meet her.

It’s a simple kiss, but his eyes drift closed all the same and he doesn’t push her away. When she returns for more, he leans further into it. When her hand comes up to the back of his neck to pull him closer, he fully surrenders, hungrily slanting his open mouth over hers.

A soft moan sounds in her throat as his hands find the edge of her – his – t-shirt. He slips one hand under it, and he answers her moan with one of his own when his palm meets the silken skin he had been craving for months. His other hand joins it and he shoves the shirt upward.

She pulls away to whip the garment over her head. She tosses it over the edge of the fake boat hull, then pushes him down onto his back.

He gazes up at her with wonder on his face as she climbs over him, straddling his hips.

“I don’t think I have a condom,” Gendry suddenly says, his eyes flitting between her face and her small, perfect breasts on display before him.

“I have an IUD,” Arya answers. “I assume you don’t have anything horrid.”

“I don’t,” he confirms. “Clean.”

“Good,” she declares, rocking her hips on top of him, drawing another groan from him.

His hands bracket her waist. They are so large on her tiny body that he briefly worries that he’s going to break her.

But when she bends down over him, he remembers who she is. She’s Arya Stark.

She definitely will not break.

When her lips seek his out again, he eagerly meets them, his hands moving upwards to cover her breasts. He briefly caresses them, but he decides that they’ll be better used removing her last garment, so he slides them down her torso to her underwear. Simple black boyleg panties, exactly what he would expect her to wear. His fingers trail the waistband, and, as her lips leave his to bite kisses into his neck, he tugs on them.

“Off with these,” he grunts.

“You too,” she retorts, rolling off of him to divest herself of her underwear. She is faster than he is so she treats herself to the show of watching him remove his boxer briefs.

“Are we really doing this?” he murmurs even as he kisses her, his large hands exploring her body. She bites his neck just hard enough, as if she is chastising him for being stupid again. When she wraps her small, strong fingers around his shaft, he groans, “Oh yeah, we definitely are.”

Arya lightly slaps Gendry’s chest with her free hand. “Dork,” she says, then squeaks in surprise when he flips them, trying to gain the upper hand.

He gives her a searing, hungry kiss, his hand trailing down her body towards the apex of her thighs. He slides a finger into her folds and curses at how wet she is for him. “Fuck.”

“That’s the plan,” she responds in a breathy voice, gasping when he slides two fingers into her.

“Now who’s a dork?” he teases, ducking his head to lavish kisses on her breasts, sliding his tongue around a nipple.

“Still you,” she gasps. “Oh, right there,” she adds, arching her hips into his hand when he circles her clit with his thumb.

He kisses his way up to her neck, then strays to her ear and jaw before finding her lips again.

“Oh… now, Gendry,” she moans, pulling his shoulder. “I’m so close… I want you inside me…”

Her brazen words further inflame him, and his last functioning brain cell hopes he can last long enough for her as he moves between her legs. She shifts, opening them wider to accommodate his bulk.

Arya had originally wanted to be on top, riding him like the bull that he is. But now that he is over her, she revels in the feeling of being surrounded by him, engulfed by his body. Giving up control to one of the very few people she trusts enough.

His kisses are more tender now, worshipful, making her head swim. She gropes for him and slides his tip through her folds a few times. It feels so good that she does it a couple more times.

“Arya,” he grunts, clearly struggling to maintain some semblance of control.

She relents and positions him. He immediately pushes forward with his hips, slipping into her warmth with ease.

They both moan at the sensation. His head drops onto her shoulder, stilling for a moment to simply savor being joined. Then he turns his head and kisses her neck as his hips begin moving.

“Oh,” she grunts, her hands scrabbling for purchase, needing something to anchor herself. They settle on his shoulders, and she hangs on. She knew he was powerful, his years of playing sports and working jobs that were mostly manual labor sculpted and strengthened him into the impressive man he is today. He looks strong, but he is still stronger than he looks.

He drives into her, strokes long and hard, his hips snapping into her. She takes everything he gives her, holding on but not clinging, meeting his thrusts with her own movements. His head is still bent over her, clearly wanting to stay close, and she pulls him closer, his back bending as she latches her lips onto his neck.

She bites, he grunts. He squeezes, she purrs. She is small but fierce, just as he fantasized. Better than.

“Gendry… oh… I’m… I need…” she pants out. He lifts up a bit, wraps his hand around her leg just above her knee, and pulls it higher so her ankle is on his shoulder. Delving harder and deeper into her now, his eyes roll back in his head.

“ _Yes_ ,” she hoarsely exclaims, her fingers digging into his sides. She opens her eyes and looks up at him.

What she sees makes her gasp. His bright blue eyes are dark and passion-glazed, and he is looking down at her with such unbridled want she almost can’t hold his gaze. He makes her feel beautiful. Precious. Loved.

Then his thumb slides across her hip, strokes over her clit two times, and she explodes with a shout, climaxing harder than she ever has. “Fuck,” she sighs.

He bites his lower lip, pounds into her a half-dozen more times, then drives in deep and stills, surging into her.

When he breathes again, the first exhale is her name. It sounds like a prayer. He moves her foot from his shoulder, then collapses over her.

xXx

“They’re dancing awfully close, aren’t they?” Robb asks the next evening, leaning over to pose the question to Jon as they watch Arya and Gendry slow dance.

“Are they?” Jon replies. Then he looks. “I guess. But they’re dancing; how far away should they be?”

Robb rolls his eyes. “You are so oblivious. I don’t know how Ygritte puts up with you. _Look_ at them. They’ve been eyeing each other like hungry animals all day.” Jon raises his eyebrows. “Okay, Bran noticed and he mentioned it to me,” he admits.

Jon nods, knowing Bran is much more observant than Robb. “I guess she is an adult now. Technically,” Jon says.

“She’s still my little sister,” Robb replies.

“You know she can take care of herself. I made sure that she knew how,” Jon reminds him, and he nods. “And Gendry is your best mate, right? She could do wor— wait, did he just touch her hair?” Jon’s attempt at being logical and reasonable is dashed as soon as Gendry reaches up and tucks a stray tendril of hair behind Arya’s ear and very deliberately lets his fingers caress her cheek.

xXx

“I want to kiss you so bad right now,” Gendry murmurs. They didn’t get much more sleep the previous night, but it was because they were up almost the rest of the night talking. Arya admitted she has had a crush on him since she was an undersized 12-year-old and he defended her when some boys were picking on her. Gendry admitted to having inappropriate thoughts about her since he noticed she had grown up, and despite his best efforts, they only increased in frequency over time.

They talked for hours and decided they definitely didn’t want this to be a one-time fling.

“So kiss me,” Arya answers, her tone suggesting the answer is obvious. Because it is.

“What about—”

“Kiss me, Gendry.”

He is helpless to refuse. He bends his head down and catches her lips in a soft, lingering kiss that makes both their heads swim a little.

Just beside the dance floor, Robb stands. “That is it. I’m going to—” A firm hand on his shoulder stops him.

“You are going to sit down and do nothing.” Sansa’s voice is calm but firm. “You too, Jon.”

They turn and look at her. She is giving them her best withering glare, which is quite impressive and has brought stronger men – like Sandor Clegane – to their knees.

“But—” Robb weakly tries. His new bride suddenly appears at his side to back up her new sisters-in-law.

“She’s an adult, and this isn’t the middle ages, Robb,” Talisa says. “You do it and she’ll never speak to you again.”

“If you’re lucky,” Sansa adds. “You _do_ want children one day, don’t you?” she asks, implication clear in her voice.

Robb sits.

On the dance floor, Arya sees all this and smiles. Then she tilts her face up and kisses Gendry again.


	3. Whisper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry sees an alluring young lady at a party and cannot stop himself from staring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the song "Whisper" by Morphine

“And why not?”

The bold question in response to the dumbass statement he just made catches Gendry off guard as he continues to stare down at the petite, gray-eyed goddess that had entranced him since he spotted her. Which was about 10 seconds after he arrived at the party.

A party he didn’t want to attend. Due to some weird legal clause in his mother’s will, he only recently met his biological father, and since then the loud, burly man has been determined to include him in his life. Despite the fact that Gendry is a full grown man and Robert Baratheon has a wife and three other children.

A wife and three other children who are completely horrid. Well, to be fair, it’s mainly the wife and oldest son who is horrid. His other two half-siblings seem all right, but they are so much younger that it is difficult for him to really know them.

The culmination of this new relationship was his expected attendance at his father and stepmother’s 25th wedding anniversary party, held at some swank establishment in which Gendry felt like an impostor.

Until he saw her. Singularly beautiful in a way that he has never seen before. Large, gray eyes sitting beneath strong, expressive brows. A small, pouty mouth, and skin that looked softer than kitten fur and as flawless as virgin snow. All wrapped in a simple blue tank dress and topped with pink hair.

As he surreptitiously watched her, so distracted that several attempted conversations went abandoned, he couldn’t help feeling some sort of weird kinship with her. Like she felt like she was an outsider, too. Like she didn’t want to be here either.

Like if he went up to her and suggested they sneak away into the night, she would agree.

Unfortunately, though Gendry Waters (he refused to take his father’s last name when the man suggested it – he wanted to keep his mother’s name to honor her) is a strong, strapping, handsome man, he has found he gets tongue-tied very easily. Especially when he is trying to impress someone. Like an attractive young lady.

He moved closer to her, watching as she sipped her drink and assessed the party from her place against a wall. Catelyn Stark walked over to her and said a few words to her that made her roll her eyes, but then she nodded, smiling for a second before her lips pursed into the slight pout she wore earlier.

His fingers itched to touch those lips, to run his fingertips over the plump, sensitive flesh there.

He took an unconscious step closer just as a tall redhead approached her and said something to her that made her laugh.

Gendry needed to hear that laugh and found himself drifting closer still.

Myrcella briefly distracted him, offering a piece of cake, which he absently took. She asked if he was all right, and he managed to look down at his half-sister to nod and reply that he was fine.

His attention snapped back to his mystery girl when he saw his unreasonably handsome friend Jon Snow approach her and lean down towards her. He glowered until he remembered that Jon has a very serious girlfriend and he’s met her so he knows she isn’t his mystery girl. Then he was able to enjoy watching as Jon says something in her ear and she laughs again.

It was like music. Her serious face transformed when it smiled, and Gendry forgot himself for a few minutes as he continued to gaze at her, wishing he could make her laugh like that.

“Can I help you?”

Her voice, clear and loud but still somehow childlike and puckish, like her, snaps him out of his reverie, and his traitorous brain stumbles over 15 different replies before he blurts something that is none of them. “Don’t worry, I’m not looking at you.”

_What?_

“And why not?” she asks, tilting her head just so and raising one of those wonderful eyebrows.

“Um… I… uh…” he stammers as his mind short circuits.

She sets her drink down on a nearby table and moves closer to him. He is helpless; his feet seem planted to the floor. She wraps her small fingers around his tie and pulls his head down towards her. For a split second, he thinks she is going to kiss him, but she moves her head at the last second.

She whispers a string of numbers in his ear, her lips so close he can feel them. His eyes flutter closed and his entire left side erupts in goosebumps.

“Remember them,” she concludes, and then her tongue darts out and licks the shell of his ear.

She releases his tie and disappears before he even opens his eyes.

When he does, he is frantic; repeating the numbers over and over again as he nearly drops the forgotten cake in his scrambling for his phone. He hurriedly punches the digits into his Contacts, but then panics when he realizes he doesn’t know her name.

He’s also not completely certain he’s remembered the numbers correctly.

_Jon. Find Jon._

He looks around, desperate to spot his friend’s dark curly hair. He finds him and makes a beeline.

“Jon,” he says.

“Hey mate,” Jon replies, then notices Gendry’s demeanor. “What’s wrong with you?”

“That girl you talked to a few minutes ago…”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“Short. Pink hair.”

“That’s my cousin Arya, why?”

 _Arya. That was Arya Stark. Seven Hells._ Gendry holds out his phone. “Is this her number?”

Jon takes out his phone and pulls up her info. “Yeah, it is. You wanna explain?”

“She whispered it in my ear and told me to remember it… I just wanted to make sure I remembered correctly,” Gendry says. Then he enters her name and saves the contact.

“She’s an odd one sometimes. Can be pretty intense,” Jon says. “She’s great though. My favorite cousin.”

Gendry knows this. He’s known Jon for years and has heard him talk about his cousin Arya before, but had never met her.

“You better text her before she loses interest,” Jon suggests. “That way she’ll have your number too.”

“Oh yeah, right,” Gendry agrees with a nod. He looks at his phone. “You think she likes me then? I was kind of… staring… and she caught me.”

Jon rolls his eyes and places his hand on Gendry’s shoulder. “Mate. If you were gawking at her and she didn’t like it, you wouldn’t be walking upright right now. And you’d be spending the rest of your life singing soprano.”

Gendry shifts uncomfortably, but not because he is uneasy. The knowledge that she is apparently able to put him on his ass is a huge turn-on.

“You all right?” Jon asks.

“Yeah…” Gendry replies, stopping himself before telling Jon that he’s trying not to get an erection over the thought of the man’s cousin putting him in a full nelson.

“Text her,” Jon says. He claps him on the shoulder once, and walks away.

Gendry stares at his phone for a few more seconds, then begins to type.

_Wanna ditch this posh nightmare? I know a great 24 hour diner._

His finger hovers over the Send button for just a moment before he pokes it.

“Shit,” he whispers, and begins typing again.

_Oh, my name is Gendry BTW. We just met._

He drops his hand, phone dangling from his palm while the other one nervously taps his thigh. He smiles as Tommen runs past him, chasing another Baratheon; Shireen, he thinks the girl’s name is. They laugh as they skid around him, making Gendry smile.

When his phone vibrates in his hand, he almost drops it.

_I’m already outside the front doors._

“Brilliant,” he mutters before looking around. He doesn’t see his father. Cersei is talking with the tall redhead he saw before, her face bearing its customary expression of disdain

He’s not obligated to say goodbye to her, and since Robert has disappeared, he quickly and quietly makes his exit, moving surprisingly stealthily for a man his size.

Gendry opens the doors and finds Arya standing with her back to him, her arms wrapped around her body. He notices how the night has turned cool and quickly removes his jacket and places it over her shoulders.

She doesn’t jump, so he knows she must have heard him come out.

“So this diner,” she says turning around to face him, “do they serve breakfast anytime?”

He grins down at her. “They do,” he answers. He holds her gaze for a second longer, his smile broadening when she smiles at him. “Shall we?” he asks, offering his hand.

She puts her small, cool hand in his, and he throws caution to the wind by lifting it to his lips and kissing her knuckles. _She did lick my ear, after all,_ he reasons. So then he tugs on her hand until she is nearly against him, wrapping his free hand around her waist.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, once again wishing he was clever.

To his delight, she laughs. The sound of it makes him warm all over. _Yes, I’m sure that’s what is making my temperature rise._

“Well done on remembering the number,” she says, easing her hand out of his to trace his jaw. Then she lightly presses her index finger into the slight cleft in his chin.

“I had help. I checked it with Jon,” he admits, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her lips part when he does this, and he decides to indulge his itchy fingers, tracing her lower lip with his thumb. She swiftly, gently, catches it in her teeth, lightly biting it for a second.

“I want French toast,” she softly says, releasing his thumb.

He leans down and kisses her nose. “Your wish is my command, milady,” he replies, then catches her hand once more to lead her to his truck.

Neither of them sees that the other cannot seem to stop grinning.


	4. The Warhammer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a Tumblr post

Arya’s smile was slight when she saw him, but it was definite. She doesn’t smile much anymore; some people think she never smiles. The softening of her features when she sees his familiar face riding into her home was so slight and so rare that most wouldn’t have noticed it.

He didn’t. He didn’t see her. She was good at blending into the scenery.

He looked good. He was alive, and she even found herself saying a silent prayer of thanks for that bit of grace. He was strong, yes, but he didn’t always make the smartest choices. Not to mention the last time she saw him he was bound and being hauled away on the back of a cart. By that woman.

His face was nearly the same as she remembered. Any youthful softness to his features has been erased, and he was now fully a man, with stubble on his jaw and a hardness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

She recognizes this hardness because she sees it in her own eyes when she looks at her reflection.

But he looks good.

She waits to see him, waits until after dinner, when all the new arrivals are settling into their rooms or bunks or wherever they are bedding down. She throws on a cloak and heads straight to the forge.

There are a few others in the large, hot building, but she finds him soon enough, organizing his things around a bunk in a secluded corner in the back.

“That’s a nice hammer.”

Her voice startles him and he whirls around, looking like he has seen a ghost. The large warhammer dangles carelessly from his hand.

“A-Arya?” he stammers, taking a step towards her.

Of course it’s her. Her face has changed very little since the last time he saw her, though it has been years. And of course he recognized her voice before he turned around.

Arya raises an eyebrow at him, her expression still carefully neutral despite the pounding of her heart. “Gendry,” she replies. When he says nothing, she repeats her earlier statement. “That’s a nice hammer. Did you make it?”

Gendry looks down at the immense weapon in his hand like he had forgotten it was there. “Um… yes, I did. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You’ve gotten better,” she assesses. The warhammer is massive and dangerous-looking, and she imagines he can do quite a bit of damage with it. He looks like he’s gotten a bit bigger and a lot stronger.

“Thanks,” he answers, slowly getting over his shock. “So have you.” Pause. “I mean… you look… good.”

She does look good. She looks so good. He thought she was most likely dead, though he never heard one way or the other. And now here she is, standing right in front of him, a woman grown, looking beautiful, but with a dark and mysterious air about her that is new and very compelling.

To his shock, she doesn’t laugh at his blunder, which simply intrigues him more.

“Thanks. So do you,” she answers. Then she begins walking forward.

She moves like a predatory animal, Gendry thinks, watching her approach. She is silent and graceful, not the loud stomping child she once was. _What happened to her when we were apart?_

Arya reaches for the warhammer. Her small fingers brush his large, rough ones, and he feels a jolt run through him, hot and cold at the same time.

“Arya, that’s—oh.” He had intended to warn her about its weight, certain she wouldn’t be able to lift it. But she does, and he is struck silent once again.

She lifts it in both hands, giving it an experimental swing. Then she swings it again, stopping just short of smashing him in the kneecap.

He doesn’t flinch. She is impressed.

“This is a very nice weapon,” she assesses. “Does it have a name?”

“What? No,” he answers, averting his gaze as he tries to sound convincing despite the heat he feels rising in his face.

Arya immediately knows he is lying. “Come now, all good weapons have a name,” she presses, and it is then Gendry notices Needle still hanging at her hip, and that makes him smile for a second until she speaks again. “What is this weapon’s name, Gendry?”

Her presence and proximity has him so off balance already that when he hears his name on her lips, any shred of resolve he had disintegrates. “Arya,” he mutters.

“Yes?” she answers, thinking he is addressing her.

“That’s the weapon’s name,” he clarifies. “Arya.”

She studies the warhammer for a few moments more, then nods and sets it aside, leaning it against the wall beside the bunk. Her actions are careful and cool despite the surprise she feels at his confession. She turns towards him, lifting her chin to stare up at him. “It’s not called ‘Lady Stark’? Not ‘M’lady’?” she asks.

“No. She’s just Arya,” he answers, his voice low now. He finds himself moving closer to her without really thinking about it.

“Why?” she whispers.

“I named her after the bravest, strongest, fiercest person I knew,” he responds, looking down into her upturned face.

“Oh,” she dumbly says, her gray eyes caught by his blue ones. After a moment, she tears them away from his gaze and forces herself to look at the hammer again. “Thank you. It’s… it’s a beautiful weapon.”

“So are you,” he says.

She looks back up at him. “I’m a beautiful weapon?” she asks, willing her frantic brain to settle. _Does he know? He can’t know. Can he? Jon doesn’t know, so he couldn’t have told him._

His hand slowly, hesitantly comes up towards her face. He moves like he is dealing with a wild animal or any sort of unpredictable being. Deliberately, projecting calm and safety and… love? When his fingertips brush her cheek, her eyes flutter closed.

“No. You’re just beautiful,” he replies.

Her large gray eyes fly open and her lips part. This time she isn’t able to keep her surprise hidden. She has been called many things throughout her short life, but “beautiful” has never been one of them.

“Gendry, I… I’m so—”

“Oh, beg pardon!” Ser Davos’ voice disrupts the spell that was weaving around them as he pulls up short at the sight of them, two young people he had no idea were acquainted, standing so close with his hand lingering at her cheek.

His hand that he guiltily pulls away now.

“Ser Davos, do you know Arya Stark?” Gendry asks, showing remarkable poise.

“I’ve not yet had the pleasure. My lady,” Davos greets.

“Just Arya,” Arya and Gendry both say. Then Arya adds, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ser Davos.”

Davos stares for a second. “You two are… previously acquainted?”

“It’s a long story, but yes,” Gendry answers. “Years ago.”

“Hmm,” Davos grunts noncommittally. “My la—Arya,” he continues, “it’s fortunate I found you here, though it is the last place I expected to find you. His grace is looking for you.” Arya and Gendry blankly stare at him. He clears his throat. “The… King… in the North…” he continues, looking for a glimmer of recognition. “Jon… Snow. Your brother.”

“I do know who you mean,” Arya says, finally letting him off the hook. “Tell him I will attend him presently, please,” she says.

Davos gives a slight bow, then turns and quickly strides away from them.

“What were you going to say?” Gendry asks.

“I… I’m so glad you’re alive,” she answers. “And I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I am too,” he replies. “And I’m really glad you’re alive, too. I heard awful rumors… that you had been killed with your mother and brother… that you were forced to marry Ramsay Bolton…”

“That was my sister.”

“Oh, Gods,” he says, his expression horrified.

“I would have killed him much sooner than she did,” Arya says.

Gendry almost laughs, but then he sees her expression is deadly serious and he swallows hard.

“I have to go,” Arya says. Then, she reaches out and grabs his hand. “I will find you later. I need a weapon, and I want you to make it for me.”

“A weapon? Arya—” She steals his words by leaning up and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

His fingers come up to touch the spot as he watches her walk away from him.

Just before she disappears from sight, she turns around and looks back at him, her cloak flaring out with the graceful spin.

Then she is gone. But she’ll be back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post found here: https://sneetchstar.tumblr.com/post/187602858388/aryaofoldstones-what-would-you-have-named


	5. Nothing Else Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little fix-it...

“I don’t know how to be lord of anything; I hardly know how to use a fork.” The words come out in a rush as he looks at her with eyes bright and shining in the dim light. “All I know is that you’re beautiful, and I love you, and none of it will be worth anything if you’re not with me. So be with me.” At this, he sinks to one knee. Arya feels a jolt of panic surge through her when he continues. “Be my wife, Arya. Be my family.”

She sets her bow aside and kneels down in front of him, gazing at him intently but still somehow softly the whole time. She raises a hand to his cheek and presses her lips to his in a kiss unlike the others they’ve shared. It is soft and tender and sweet and full of promise. Gendry allows hope to bloom in his chest as he guides them to their feet, his lips not leaving hers.

Arya reluctantly pulls back and slowly opens her eyes. She trails her fingers along his jaw and, as gently as she can, says, “I can’t.”

His face falls in disappointment that quickly turns to anger. “What do you mean, you can’t? You’re not married; I’m not married. I’m finally worthy of you, _finally_ , and now you say you can’t? It’s not that you can’t, it’s that you won’t.” He steps back, sharply turning away from her.

“You’re right.”

He isn’t completely surprised at her admission, but the soft tone of her voice gives him pause. He turns around to see unexpected tears in her eyes.

“I won’t. But it’s not because I don’t—” she breaks off, regroups, and says, her tone sharper now, “You can’t just come and propose marriage because you suddenly think you’re worthy of me!”

“I bloody well can and bloody well did!” he yells back. “But apparently I’m still not good en—”

“You were always good enough, Stupid! But what you won’t let yourself see is that _I’m_ not good enough for _you_! I’ve done terrible things! I’m nothing but a cold killer now!” she yells.

“Arya—”

“I won’t marry you because I still need to go kill Cersei, and I probably won’t survive!”

“Why the fuck do you need to do that?” he demands, stalking towards her. “That Dragon Queen isn’t going to let her live, that’s for certain. She’s definitely going to die. Why does it need to be by your hand? It’s not going to bring your family back.” His tone grows gradually softer as he talks, and Arya looks down, unable to answer. He continues: “So instead of riding off to die in King’s Landing, we can just… stay here where it’s safe. For as long as you want. Then marry me... whenever... and come with me to Storm’s End and help me figure out how to be a Lord.”

When she looks up at him, her expression is incredulous. “Did you not hear anything _else_ I said?” she asks. “If you knew the things I’ve done...”

“I don’t give two shits about what you’ve done. But I know you, maybe better than anyone else here,” he says, gesturing around him. “Whatever you did, I’m sure you did it to survive. You say you’re only a cold killer. You aren’t.” He grabs her upper arm with one hand and her chin with the other, making sure she is looking at him. He holds her lightly, and she could very easily break away. But she doesn’t. She won’t. “The Arya I know is so much more than that. The Arya I know is warm, and _so_ smart, and funny, and... and skilled at so many things, and cares about people. All people, not just highborns. The Arya I know didn’t care that I was a blacksmiths apprentice... the Arya I know is the woman who loved me right there,” he points to the grain sacks, “last night, _twice_ , and it wasn’t just because we might have died. It was because she trusted me enough to share herself with me, her _true_ self. That is the woman I want for my wife.”

Tears are streaming down her face by the time he finishes talking, and he reaches up and wipes them away with his rough thumbs. “You deserve a proper lady. That’s not me,” she whispers. As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she realizes she sounds like she’s 12 years old again, and suddenly her old excuse sounds feeble. Did he not just insist he wants her for who she is?

But Gendry speaks before she can say anything else. “Don’t you fucking dare tell me what I deserve or want, Arya Stark.” He speaks the words quietly, but there is no tenderness in them. Arya has never been afraid of Gendry before, but strangely, that’s exactly how she feels now. His low rumble is much more intimidating than the yelling he was doing earlier. She blinks and swallows, unable to speak for a moment. “Did you not hear anything I just said?” he asks, repeating her words back to him. “I don’t want someone like Sansa or... or your mother. I want you. I fucking love _you_ , and I’m not leaving here until you fucking understand that.”

He is still so, so close, and Arya can feel the heat radiating off of his body. She slowly looks up into his eyes and sees they are dark and passion-glazed, more pupil than iris, and for some reason that heats her blood as well. All she can do is surge up against him and crash her lips into his.

“I... love you... too...” she manages in the gaps between kisses, her hands clutching his vest. When they finally part, she looks up at him, breathing just as heavily as she is, then looks down. “But I don’t know if I can remember how to be happy,” she admits. “How to be a person. A real person, with real feelings.”

“The woman I was with last night was definitely that,” he says. “I know you’re scared,” he adds, then puts his finger over her lips to stop her protest. “But you trusted me last night with your maidenhead.” She nods. “So why can’t you trust me with your happiness?”

“It’s... it’s not that simple,” she says.

“Yes, it is. I love you. You love me. No one is going to object, so nothing else matters,” he insists, leaning his forehead against hers. “At least I don’t think anyone will object. And if they do, fuck ’em.”

She can’t stop the small snort of laughter that bursts forth. “Maybe that Targaryen bitch legitimized you so _she_ could marry you,” she says. “I mean, she’s fucking my brother, but who knows what is going on in her head?”

He shakes his head. “She legitimized me so I would be grateful and feel a sense of obligation to her. So I won’t try to take her throne from her, being Robert Baratheon’s son and all,” he says. Then he pecks her lips again.

Now Arya fully laughs, dropping her head against his chest. “She doesn’t know you at _all_ ,” she gasps.

Gendry enjoys hearing her laughter but doesn’t join in. “No, but you do,” he says, lifting her head. “And you know I can’t do this. Not without help. Not without _your_ help. I… would only be half the man I could be without you there.”

“That isn’t true,” she firmly tells him, lightly shoving him. “Just because you’ve been told you’re nothing doesn’t mean you _are_. It doesn’t mean you can’t prove those people wrong.”

“And just because you’ve been told you’re a cold killer doesn’t mean you are,” he counters, crowding her again, walking forward until she is backed against a wall. “It doesn’t mean you have to continue on that path.” He leans down and claims her lips once again, kissing her without relenting, pouring everything he has into it.

When he releases her, she is dazed and a little dizzy. “All right,” she breathes, closing her eyes because she can’t bear the bright blue of his gazing into her soul.

“All right?” he asks.

“I’ll marry you,” she clarifies. She opens her eyes to see him giving her the same look he gave her the previous night when she first climbed over him. It is a look of absolute wonder and love. She isn’t sure she can bear such adoration, but she is resolved to try.

“You will?” he asks, like he can scarcely believe it.

She can’t help but roll her eyes. “I will, Stupid.”

He kisses her once more, deeply and joyfully, and when he pulls away from her he again lets his head drop against hers. “I never thought I would ever win an argument with Arya Stark,” he says, unable to stop his grin.

She pecks his lips. “Don’t get used to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I refuse to believe that Gendry would have just taken Arya's "no" and simply walked away, defeated. He's just as stubborn, argumentative, and smart as she is.


	6. Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prerequisite Mistletoe fic.

-12/17-

“You _have_ to kiss! It’s the law!” Rickon’s tiny voice chides them as Gendry stares up at the mistletoe above them, not yet brave enough to look down.

He likes Arya fine. In fact, she’s his favorite of Robb and Jon’s siblings. But she’s 12. And 17-year-old almost-men definitely should not be kissing 12-year-old girls, mistletoe or no.

When he risks a glance down at her, she is looking up at him with her wide, gray eyes, looking like a tiny deer caught in headlights. He doesn’t know what she’s thinking – he rarely does, this unpredictable girl – but he decides it is worth risking getting kicked in the shins just to shut Rick up.

He leans down, gently grabs her head, and places a quick but soft kiss on her forehead.

“That do?” he asks, looking at the youngest Stark child.

“Yay!” Rickon squeals and runs away.

Gendry nods once, not daring to glance at Arya. Grateful to escape unbruised, he simply walks away, back to join his friends in the throng of the Stark’s annual Christmas party. Had he looked, he would have seen that she is still standing dumbfounded under the mistletoe.

She blinks once, and slowly walks away, heading for the table of desserts. Her hand comes up and gently touches the spot on her forehead that is still warm and tingling from Gendry’s kiss.

-17/22-

“Dude, just give her a peck. It’s just Arya.” This time it’s Theon goading him as he, once again, finds himself trapped beneath a sprig of mistletoe with Arya Stark. He had been managing to avoid it most of the night, especially when Jeyne Poole was prowling nearby.

He had actually been pretty good at avoiding it altogether since the time he was 17 and was harangued by a 6-year-old into kissing Arya on the forehead.

“Fuck off, Theon, I’m not _just_ anybody!” Arya shoots back, glaring at him.

Gendry smiles. She’s right. She’s not _just_ anyone. She’s Arya Stark, who has become a little bit more of a distraction since he came home from college with Robb and Jon this past summer and saw that she had somehow turned into a woman. A woman who seemed determined to spend as much time as possible wearing a bikini top and very short cut-off jeans.

He wasn’t expecting her to be _gorgeous_. And fascinating. And, if he’s honest, a little bit scary.

Since then, he’s woken up more than once feeling guilty about dreams over which he has no control with his heart still racing and his body sweaty and sticky.

Still. She’s only 17 years old. He’s 22, in university, and is in Winterfell to stay with the Starks for Christmas, like he does every year because he has no blood relatives of his own.

She’s grown into a beautiful force of nature. He’s been dutifully staying away, but the longer he is here, the more he feels like a moth and she, the flame.

His smile slides from his face when he looks down – she isn’t much taller than when she was 12 – and sees her smirking expectantly up at him. Her whole expression a challenge.

_Fuck, do you even know what you do to me?_

He leans down and angles his head, brushing his lips ever so softly against the silken skin of her cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Arya,” he mutters. Then he flees.

-22/27-

“Hey, bring me back a cookie!” Robb yells, and Gendry stops and looks back.

“What kind?” he returns.

“One of the frosted ones!”

The party is mostly over; only a few guests are still lingering, and most of them are saying their goodbyes. Most of the Stark siblings were gathered in the family room, mainly joking around and giving each other shit. Gendry was headed for the dining room and one last brownie before they disappeared.

He turns back towards the dining room and nearly mows down a smaller person. He instinctively reaches out to steady the person, apologies falling from his lips.

“It’s all right, I wasn’t looking either.”

That’s when it fully connects in his brain that he’s loosely holding Arya Stark in his arms. She looks up at him, her little heart-shaped face glowing in the dim light.

“Oh,” she softly exclaims, her gaze pointed higher than his face. He looks up.

Mistletoe. They’re caught again. Five years later, again.

It would be easier to avoid if the mistletoe was always in the same place at these parties, but it never is.

Gendry realizes he’s still holding on to her, and quickly drops his hands.

Arya doesn’t move away. “Where are you going to kiss me this time?” she goads, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I… What?”

“Where are you going to kiss me this time, Gendry?” she repeats. “My hand? The top of my head?”

 _Is she… is she flirting with me?_ She bites her lower lip and looks down for a moment before meeting his gaze again. _Fuck me, she is._

He does some quick math in his head. _She’s 22 now. Graduated from Uni. An adult._

She’s still looking expectantly up at him when he raises his right hand and brushes her hair back over her shoulder. He gently places his thumb behind her earlobe, then begins lightly dragging it down the side of her neck, intently watching her face.

When her lips part in a soft gasp, he finds his spot. He leans down.

“I think I’ll kiss you right… here,” he murmurs, circling a spot on the side of her neck, just a few centimeters above her shoulder. He places a wet, lingering kiss there.

His only regret is that he cannot see her face when he does it, but her closed eyes and parted lips when he raises his head again is pretty good. Pretty _damn_ good.

Arya opens her eyes and fixes Gendry in her steely stare once more. Before he can say anything, she leaps, slamming into him, her lips messily finding his.

“Fucking _finally_ ,” she tears her lips away to growl before claiming his lips again, her tongue thrusting forward now.

He eagerly meets and matches her hunger, his arms wrapping around her back to pull her as close as he can. He feels the wall against his back and her fingers in his hair.

“Hey, where’s my cook—oh shit!” Robb’s exclamation of surprise startles them, but they do not jump apart like guilty teenagers.

“Get your own cookie, Robb. We’re busy,” Arya says, still firmly in Gendry’s grasp and happy to be there.

“I am traumatized,” Robb mutters, walking back to the family room instead of the dining room.

Arya smiles up at Gendry. “Merry Christmas?” she asks.

He drops his head, resting his forehead against hers. “Merry Christmas indeed,” he replies.

The shouts of disbelief from Arya’s siblings are just background noise; ignored as he returns his lips to hers for a slow, deep, languid kiss.


	7. Since There's No Place to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out I had one more Christmas/winter-themed Gendrya fic in me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> contains smut

“Hey. Wake up.” Arya’s insistent voice combined with her even more insistent shoving on his shoulder rouses Gendry into a foggy wakefulness.

“Huh?” He lifts his head, blinking his eyes and scowling.

“We fell asleep. I need to go home,” she says.

“You can stay here,” he mutters, leaning back down to return to sleep on the couch, not caring that he’s not in his bed.

“I can’t. I have no clothes and an exam in the morning,” she says, tugging his hair before standing.

“Mmkay,” he mutters, slowly sitting up again. She is more than capable of letting herself out, but someone has to lock the door behind her.

“Gotta pee,” she announces, and he walks over to the window to close the curtains.

“Hey Arya,” he calls, “I don’t think you should leave.”

“Don’t get clingy on me, Waters,” she yells back.

“It’s really snowing out. Like _really_ ,” he returns, ignoring her comment. She has no idea exactly how clingy he’d like to be with her, and he has no intention of telling her anytime soon because he’s a coward when it comes to her.

She emerges. “So? I grew up in the north. I can handle a little snow,” she says, stepping into her boots.

He points at the window. “This is more than a _little_ snow,” he says.

She walks over and looks out. “It’s not that bad,” she dismisses.

“You can’t even see the cars!”

“Looks like every winter from my childhood.”

He stares at her, at a loss for words. Arya Stark only does what Arya Stark wants to do. He’s been able to get her to change her mind _maybe_ twice in the ten-plus years they’ve known each other. And one of those times was simply because murder is against the law, even if the victim is Joffrey Baratheon.

“I’ll text you when I get home,” she says, and he knows that’s her way of compromising.

“Please do,” he replies.

“Get some sleep. You have classes tomorrow too, Mister Fancy TA,” she teases, leaning in for a quick hug before heading towards the door.

“I don’t think either one of us will have any classes tomorrow, but okay,” he replies, reluctantly releasing her from his embrace.

Arya just snorts and walks out the door.

Five minutes later, she is back, and Gendry is waiting.

“Don’t say—”

“I told you so.”

“Fucking amateurs,” she grumbles, angrily unwinding the scarf from around her neck. “You southerners do not know how to handle any sort of snow.”

“Well, we so rarely get this amount we really don’t have the infrastructure in place to—”

“Blah, blah, blah,” she cuts him off making a puppet with her hand for emphasis. Then she looks at the couch. “I’m not sleeping on your couch,” she declares.

“Oh. I… I guess I will, then…” he says, and she rolls her eyes.

“Gendry, I’m not kicking you out of your own bed,” she says. “You have a king-sized bed and I am very small. You won’t even know I’m there.”

 _That’s what you think._ “All right,” he says after a slight pause.

“And we were literally just sleeping together on your couch, like, a half an hour ago,” she points out.

“Yeah, but that was accidental,” he mutters, following her to the bedroom.

“Can I have a t-shirt? I really don’t fancy sleeping in my clothes and you probably don’t want me sleeping in just my underwear,” she says, gathering her hair and throwing it into a quick braid. “And you’re going to have to at least wear a pair of shorts, naked man,” she adds, poking him in the chest with her bony little finger.

He turns away to dig into his dresser drawer to hide the color that rose into his cheeks. He’s not sure how she knows he prefers to sleep naked, but suspects Jon’s inability to keep any information to himself.

“Here,” he says, throwing a shirt at her. It’s one of his King’s Landing football t-shirts, which he selected just to irritate her.

She looks at it. “Thanks,” she says in a flat voice, then takes it with her to the bathroom.

She knocks on the door when she returns. “Are you decent?”

“I’m never decent, but I am not naked,” he answers.

She snorts another short laugh again and enters, shaking her head at him. His back is to her, so he doesn’t see that she nearly has to pick her jaw up off of the floor at the sight of his bare, well-muscled back. It’s been a while since she’s seen him shirtless, and all his work in the metal shop at the university has really been beneficial to his physique. She realizes she’s glad that most of his students are men, and it really throws her.

“Which side do you prefer?” she asks, wincing at the telltale huskiness in her voice.

“I usually sleep alone,” he answers, turning around. His shirt hangs on her like a tent, the short sleeves hanging to her elbows and the hem nearly to her knees. He swallows and adds, “I don’t have a ‘side’ I prefer.”

She rolls her eyes to avert her gaze from his chest. And abs. And those angled hip things than men have when they’re really fit. _Godsdamn it all this is not the time to be having these thoughts about your best friend._ Arya much prefers to be in the darkness and privacy of her own bed in her own room before she’ll allow herself such wayward thoughts.

“Just get in,” he says. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Okay,” she replies, then climbs into his bed as he heads to the bathroom. She decides to steal these few minutes to indulge what she can, burrowing deep and inhaling, taking in the scent of him from his bedding. She can smell his soap, mostly, but there are hints of smoke and metal and even sweat, and it all combines into _him_ and she is suddenly wondering if this was a bad idea after all. She turns her face into his pillow.

“What are you doing?

His voice surprises her and she jumps, trying not to appear guilty. “You startled me,” she says, not answering his question.

He walks over to the bed and slides into the other side, reaching out to switch off the bedside lamp.

In the darkness, he asks again. “What were you doing?”

“I was lying here.”

“Trying to suffocate yourself?”

Arya huddles tighter into herself, pulling the blankets around her neck. Gendry tugs back, preventing her from hogging the covers.

“I was cold,” she lies.

“You. _You_ were cold,” he says, seeing right through her. She’s never cold.

“Yes. Goodnight.”

“Mm-hm.”

Things are silent for a few minutes, then Gendry quietly, carefully turns his face into his pillow the way she had, trying to figure out what she was doing. All he learns is that it’s difficult to breathe and he can smell his shampoo. He often comes home covered in soot and sweat and will shower before bed. Then it hits him.

“Were you… smelling my pillow?” he asks, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Sleeping,” she replies, stubbornly not moving.

“Arya…”

She starts pretending to snore. Her denial is all the encouragement he needs, and suddenly his cowardice melts away. He scoots closer to her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“You were, weren’t you?” he asks, and this time there is no teasing in his tone. His thumb reaches out and caresses the side of her neck and he hears her breath hitch. He moves a little closer still, bites his lower lip, and buries his face in her neck. He slowly inhales, savoring the scent of her.

“Gendry, what are you—”

“I would do the same thing if I was in your bed, Arya,” he murmurs, his lips brushing her skin as he speaks. “You smell incredible.”

Then he kisses the side of her neck, softly and slowly, lingering long enough for her to feel his tongue _just_ touch her skin.

She takes a long, shuddering breath, and a second later, she is facing him, pulling his lips to hers.

They kiss like two people starved, feasting on one another, a tangle of lips and tongues and even teeth until they are satisfied just enough to come up for air.

“Are we really doing this?” Gendry whispers, his forehead against hers. Somehow, they had rolled so that Arya is fully beneath him, her knees already bracketing his hips.

“Do you… not want to?” she asks. “Because it really seems like you do.” She presses her hips upward, into his erection, to emphasize her statement.

“You’re my best friend,” he states.

“We’ll still be best friends,” she points out. “God, why do people always think that? I mean, why wouldn’t you want your significant other to also be your best friend? If you’re dating someone, you’re supposed to actually _like_ them, aren’t you?”

He stares down at her. “You want to date me?”

“ _That’s_ what you got out of that?” she returns.

“Um… yes?” he says, furrowing his brow. “You are right, obviously. I just… never mind. I’m being stupid.”

“I know,” she replies. “Now kiss me, Stupid.”

He gladly obliges, this time sliding his hand down her side, his fingers starting to bunch up the material of the t-shirt she is wearing, lifting up so he can move it out of the way and slide his hand underneath it.

Her hands are doing some wandering of their own, and one lands on his ass, squeezing for a moment before shoving her fingers beneath the waistband of the shorts he is wearing.

“I have condoms in the drawer,” he mutters, kissing down her neck as he pushes her shirt further up.

“I’m safe,” she says. “Been on the pill for years.”

“Oh, right, I knew that,” he replies just before tugging her shirt the rest of the way off. “Fuck,” he whispers, then drops his head to her chest.

“Sorry they’re not bigger,” she apologizes, strangely misinterpreting his curse. She realizes her mistake when he hungrily pulls one nipple into his mouth and skates his rough thumb over the other.

“They’re perfect,” he lifts his head long enough to assure her. “Beautiful.”

She starts shoving at his shorts, but her arm isn’t long enough. So she raises one foot as high as she can and manages to nab the bottom hem with her toes. She pulls and he lifts his hips to allow her to yank them down far enough for him to kick them off.

He moves his mouth to her other breast while his hand moves to her panties, tugging at them ineffectively.

“Shit,” she curses, giving brief thought to just telling him to rip them off. But she decides it’s not the wisest idea, and pushes him to the side so she can bring her legs back together enough to remove them.

She also gets a look at him this way. The room is dark, but it isn’t pitch black and her eyes have adjusted enough to see what she wants to see.

“Nice,” she assesses, trailing her fingers down his chest to his cock, over which she also drags her fingers.

He hisses in response, his body jerking like he has been jolted with electricity. He catches her hand and places it firmly on him as he leans over to kiss her again.

She wraps her fingers around his shaft, stroking him a few times, learning how he feels, what he likes.

His fingers creep forward to pay her similar attention, and a small, involuntary whimper escapes her throat.

“So wet already,” he murmurs against her lips, trying not to sound as pleased as he feels by this discovery.

But she feels his grin against her mouth and pulls away long enough to retort, “So hard already.” She squeezes his cock just enough to make him grunt.

“You are impossible,” he groans, rolling them again so he is over her. “You’re the smallest adult I know and you somehow manage to be the biggest pain in my arse,” he says, then kisses her, hard.

“Yeah, and you love me anyway,” she says, tearing her lips away.

“I do,” he admits, the words coming easier than he ever expected. Perhaps her small, perfect body moving beneath his, her wet heat enveloping his fingers, and her own subtle admissions were the perfect combination to loosen the gag around his heart. “I do love you,” he repeats

“Good, because I love you, too,” she softly replies, leaning up to bite the side of his neck. She bends her knees, lifts her hips, and further opens her thighs, encouraging him.

He groans and follows her lead when she guides him into place. He lowers his hips and swiftly enters her, unable to go slow. He needs her now.

“Oh!” Arya cries out, and Gendry thinks he’s hurt her, but then she hums in pleasure before he is able to check. “More,” she gasps, running her fingers into his hair and pulling.

“Yeah,” he gruffly agrees, moving with confidence, pistoning in and out of her even as she grips his head and keeps his face near hers. His back is bent and the nails of her fingers not in his hair are biting into his back, but he only registers the bliss of being joined with her. The way they fit together like they were designed for each other. The press of her lips against his, the sweetness of her tongue sliding along his, the perfect tightness of her around his cock as he pounds into her.

Arya hitches her legs higher still; Gendry grabs one by the ankle and places it on his shoulder, knowing she is flexible enough. She moans when this new position allows him to drive a little deeper, hitting spots inside her she didn’t even know were there.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” she swears, toes curling as the delicious telltale warmth starts building and building quickly, the pleasure starts where they are joined and spreads to the tips of her fingers and toes. “Gendry,” she gasps, clinging to him, her body arching beneath his to meet his thrusts.

“Arya,” he huffs, carefully leaning further down, testing the limits of her flexibility because if he doesn’t kiss her _now_ he feels like he may actually die. He has lasted longer than he thought he would, but won’t much longer, and thankfully, she seems close too.

His lips connect with hers and her ankle slips from his shoulder. They don’t even notice because seconds later, he thrusts in very hard and very deep and his whole body tenses, tight as a bowstring as he spills into her.

A few seconds later, his sense returns and he slips a hand down between them to touch her. He easily finds her clit with his thumb and all it takes is a few small circles of his callused digit on her most sensitive spot and she shatters.

Arya gasps, making a noise that sounds like gibberish mixed with his name. Gendry keeps his thumb there, backing off the pressure only a little, tormenting her with pleasure until she begs him to stop.

He reluctantly does so and then slumps over her, his head landing on her shoulder as he slips out of her.

“Shit, Arya, why didn’t we do that years ago?” he asks.

“Because I may have been underage, depending on how many years you mean,” she answers, and he laughs.

“Oh, you definitely would have been,” he confirms. He lifts his head and kisses her, this time softly and sweetly, a kiss fueled by love instead of lust.

“What took you so long to make a move?” she asks. “Get off me, you bull, you’re heavy,” she adds with a shove.

“You may be tiny, but you’re terrifying,” he tells her as he rolls to the side. He immediately pulls her close, tucking her into his side. “Plus, if you didn’t feel the same way…”

She makes a derisive snorting noise. “I’m not _that_ terrifying,” she argues. “And like I wouldn’t feel the same way. I’m just shit at flirting,” she adds with a laugh.

“Yeah, if smelling my pillow is what you consider flirting, you really are shit at it,” he teases.

“Well, the ends justify the means, I guess,” she replies, then yawns.

He turns and kisses her forehead. “Go to sleep, my small, terrifying, pain in the arse,” he says.

“Mmm, maybe we’ll get lucky and the snow will continue and I’ll be stuck here tomorrow night, too,” Arya murmurs.

Gendry can only smile, knowing that they’ll be spending tomorrow night together regardless of the snow.


	8. It Was Only a Kiss (It was Only a Kiss)

“Shit,” Arya mutters, her eyes widening as she picks up her pint glass and tries to hide behind it.

“What is it?” Gendry asks beside her in the semicircular booth they are sharing along the back wall of the pub. He turns and sees her slowly sinking. “What the hells are you doing?” he asks, reaching for her arm and pulling her back up. “Don’t do that; the floor is gross.”

“Ned Dayne just walked in,” she says, now tugging on his jacket and trying to hide behind it. It wouldn’t be a problem if he wasn’t still wearing it.

“Arya, calm down!” Gendry says, tugging his coat. “Why are you hiding? _You_ broke up with _him_.”

“Yeah, and he was a petulant baby about it, so I do not want to deal with him. Kiss me,” she suddenly orders, grabbing his shoulder.

“What?” he stammers.

“Kiss me,” she repeats. “He hasn’t seen me yet, but he’s coming this way.”

“Why do—” His next question is cut off by her lips on his, making his brain short circuit for a second before instinct – and long pent-up desire – takes over. He fully leans into her, hiding her behind his large frame as best he can.

When he feels her relax a little, the kiss starts to change. It’s no longer lips pressed together as they try to hide her. It starts becoming a _real_ kiss. Without thinking, he opens his mouth just enough to tug at her lower lip a bit, his tongue flicking against it.

She sighs, and he’s sure she’s made a small sound that gets lost in the noise of the pub. He wishes he could hear it.

Then she pulls away. “He’s gone,” she says.

He slowly opens his eyes and finds himself staring into her wide gray eyes. They are more pupil than iris, her cheeks are pink, and her lips are still parted, pouting softly.

“Oh. Okay,” he replies. Then he leans in and kisses her again because now that he has done it once, he has no intention of allowing that to be the only time.

When she not only lets him, but slides her hand up his chest to rest briefly on the side of his neck before delving into his hair, he knows that she feels the same.


	9. (Not) Without You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banged out a quick one for New Year's Eve

Arya takes one last look around the ballroom to make sure no one is looking at her. Then she quietly slips out of the doors.

She didn’t want to go to the annual super posh Baratheon New Year’s Eve Party. She never wants to go, and in the past, she’s been able to weasel her way out of it.

But since her father nearly died earlier in the year, her mother insisted the entire family be there, even Arya.

“At least make an appearance,” her father had told her later, privately. “I know you don’t go in for fancy parties. Neither do I, to be honest. But do me a solid and make your mother happy for once.”

“I will as long as you promise never to attempt to use anything close to modern slang ever again,” Arya answered.

“Groovy,” he replied, and they both laughed.

“That’s better,” she said, hugging him.

Arya is nearly out of the mansion now. She had to duck behind a decorative suit of armor when one of the servers dashed through with a tray of appetizers that, honestly, didn’t look like anything appetizing. Luckily, the armor had once belonged to a Baratheon ancestor who was as fat as he was conceited, so it easily hides her small body from view, even in the dress.

She slips outside, then grabs her boots from where she stashed them inside a planter. She quickly changes her footwear, then dashes for the street, checking her phone every few seconds as the Uber she ordered draws closer to the appointed meeting place. She only waits a couple of minutes before it arrives.

xXx

“Come on, Gendry!” Hot Pie presses, tugging his friend’s arm towards the dartboards at the back of the pub. “Stop being such an old lady.”

Gendry didn’t want to come out tonight. Yes, it’s New Year’s Eve, but it just isn’t nearly as much fun without Arya there. He’s only out because Lommy and Hot Pie employed the help of Anguy and Thoros to physically drag him out to Beric’s pub. Since then, he’s been sitting at the bar, nursing his pint and scowling.

A few girls have tried flirting with him. One was too blonde. One was too tall. One was too stupid.

None were Arya, so he wasn’t interested. Not that she knows. He hasn’t gotten the courage to tell her, despite the fact that his self-imposed agony grows daily.

“I don’t want to play,” Gendry grumbles and pulls his arm away. “I’ll stay till midnight and then I’m leaving.”

Hot Pie rolls his eyes. “Go home now if you’re just going to sit there and be a shit,” he says, then starts walking away.

“I didn’t want to come out in the first place, but you lot dragged me out!” Gendry turns and yells at his friend’s retreating form.

“Why didn’t you want to come out?”

Gendry almost drops his drink at the sound of the voice behind him. He wheels around and there is Arya, looking like some sort of amazingly gorgeous goth fairy princess, wearing a short, one-shouldered dress that is black on top and fades into red on the skirt. There are little silver crystal things decorating the strap and the side under her strapless arm. Her lips are painted dark red, her eyes are heavily lined with black eyeliner, and her hair even looks darker than usual. It also looks like she had it cut because it’s now hanging just past her chin, barely skimming her shoulders. When he saw her a few days ago, it was down to her shoulder blades and she didn’t have fringes in front.

“Arya,” he finally manages, and even then it only comes out as an exhale.

She smiles up at him, that saucy, mischievous smile she has when she’s either going to get up to no good or already has been. “I snuck out,” she says.

“You look incredible,” he replies. “That dress is… wow.”

“Thanks.” She blushes and looks down. It is then he notices she is wearing black Doc Martens, and he laughs.

“The heels were uncomfortable,” she tells him. “They were fierce though.”

“I bet they were.”

“So why didn’t you want to come out?” she asks, tilting her head at him. She steps closer to him as some people pass behind her. The pub is becoming more crowded as it draws closer to midnight, so it is also getting noisier and harder to hold a conversation.

When it is clear behind her again, she doesn’t back up, still standing between his spread knees as he sits on the barstool. She even drops her hands, her fingers dancing over his denim-clad knees.

Her voluntarily proximity in such an intimate way makes him bold. She doesn’t normally have an issue with personal space when it comes to him, but somehow this feels different. Maybe it’s the dress. Maybe it’s the ale (even though he really hasn’t had much). Or maybe Gendry has finally, inexplicably found his courage.

He leans closer to speak in her ear. “Honestly? I didn’t want to come out because you weren’t going to be here,” he admits. She smells divine and he has to close his eyes to give himself the strength not to simply attack her neck with his lips and tongue.

When he draws back, she catches his face with her hand, resting her palm on his cheek. “Really?” she asks, her gray eyes wide as she looks up at him.

His hand slides around her waist and pulls her even closer. “Really,” he answers. “Nothing is fun without you.”

“Nothing?” It seems she can only repeat his words back to him, and she would feel extremely stupid if he wasn’t looking at her like that. Like the way she’s been wanting him to look at her for years. Like he wants to devour her.

“Absolutely,” he pauses to give her a brief, soft kiss, “nothing.” Then he dives in again, not caring that they’re in the middle of a crowded pub, not caring that there are still 23 minutes until midnight, not even caring that they’re likely transferring her lipstick to his face.

Arya melts into his kiss for just a second before pressing back, meeting every sweep of his tongue with hers, her hand moving from his cheek into his hair, holding his head to keep him from changing his mind and pulling away.

Pulling away is the last thing he has in mind. In fact, the arm around her waist tugs her even closer, so she is nestled tight against him, his groin pressed against her stomach.

“Oh shit!” Lommy’s exclamation of shock is what finally draws them apart. “Lads! Gendry and Arya! Fucking finally!”

“Fucking finally, or finally fucking?” Anguy shouts back and is answered with a chorus of lewd cheers.

Arya laughs, dropping her head against Gendry’s shoulder. “Twats,” she mutters.

“The lot of them,” Gendry agrees. He kisses her forehead, then asks, “Do you want to get out of here?”

“It’s not midnight yet,” she replies.

“I know. But I can think of a better way to ring in the new year than hanging around here with these twats,” he says.

The look he is giving her would make her panties combust if they weren’t already soaking wet. “I bet you can,” she huskily says, then takes his hand and leads him towards the door.

There is more cheering as they are spotted leaving, but they can’t find it in them to care.


	10. Surrender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there were a few Tumblr posts about how Gendry must have gotten himself all cleaned up for a reason before he went to find Arya to give her the spear. And of course I couldn't find any tonight. But that's where this fic came from.

Gendry wipes a cloth over his face, then absently scrubs at his hands for a second before tossing it aside, his eyes trained on the completed weapon before him. It’s not as good as he could have made it, but it is definitely strong enough for Arya. He doesn’t have the luxury of time to make it a weapon truly worthy of her.

He did exactly as he said: he got right on creating the weapon she requested after she left him, still staring, impressed and mystified at the woman his old friend had become. As deadly as she is beautiful: a heady combination.

He had been stunned when he heard her voice behind him, defending him the way he defended her all those years ago. Except instead of defending him against two snot-nosed boys, she defended him against the second scariest living man in Westeros (first scariest if the rumors about the Mountain are to be believed).

He couldn’t believe she was alive, much less alive and coldly staring up at Clegane with no fear on her face at all. As he heard their exchange, he learned they obviously have some sort of shared past that ended with Arya leaving him for dead.

He sighs and grabs the spear, eager to find Arya and present her with her weapon. Hoping he will be graced with another one of her smiles.

Then he catches a glimpse of himself reflected in a large piece of polished metal, and it stops him in his tracks.

_I can’t go to her looking like this._

Grateful for the empty forge, he quickly places a cauldron of water over the embers of the fire to heat, knowing there’s no way he’ll be able to bathe in cold water. While the water heats, he allows his mind to drift to her again as he busies himself tidying up.

She is so different, but much the same. She remains very much Arry, but with a harder, darker edge he never would have expected. She is so silent and still now, where she was always talking, always moving when she was younger. Even so, he found himself falling back into old habits with her almost immediately, not even thinking twice about teasing her with her title. He didn’t give it a thought until she was so quiet and still for those few seconds before her solemn face split into a smile. Those few seconds in which his heart seemed to stop beating.

Then, when she did smile, his heartbeat not only resumed, but doubled, and he quickly distracted himself organizing the items before him to hide his unexpected reaction to how her smile only highlighted how beautiful she had become.

He dips his hand into the water, decides it’s warm enough, and carries the cauldron back to his bunk. As he quickly but thoroughly washes himself, he tries not to think about exactly _why_ he feels the need to present his best self to her. He tells himself it is because she is a Lady (despite her protestations) and it would be disrespectful to appear covered in soot and grime.

He scrubs his fingernails, knowing they’ll never come completely clean. He scrubs his face, taking care to get behind his ears. Underarms, obviously, and groin as well. Because he knows odors can get trapped down there. That’s the only reason.

Those are the things he tells himself. He refuses to acknowledge the obvious truth knocking on the door in the back of his mind.

He wants her.

He wants her but he cannot have her, because she is highborn. Even though he is the son of a king, he is the bastard son of a king, never acknowledged, and therefore, a commoner.

_I can be your family._

Her small, almost desperate voice sounds in his head for the millionth time since that night, and he closes his eyes. At the time, she was still so young, but he knew what she was really trying to tell him. Their differences in status never mattered to her. Because, for her, it didn’t need to matter. Because if they were together, _she_ wouldn’t be punished or killed.

He heaves a sigh, absently pulling on clothing, not even fully noting that the items he is selecting are garments of high quality, given to him by King Jon because he didn’t have enough warm clothes. They are fine and clean and fit surprisingly well. He walks back out and looks at his reflection.

_What are you doing?_

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Then he opens them, grabs the spear, and heads out in search of her before he can talk himself out of it.

_We may die before tomorrow. It may be my only opportunity to apologize. To tell her that she is important to me. Special to me._

Not terribly familiar with Winterfell’s grounds, he wanders, searching for her. Nearly an impossible task, given how small and stealthy she is. The girl – woman – moves like a shadow, silent and unnoticed, and if she does not wish to be found, she will not be found.

He asks a few people if they have seen her. No one has. Then he hears the unmistakable sound of an arrow sinking into wood, and instinct makes him follow it.

Gendry finds Arya in a storeroom in the base of the castle, practicing with a longbow. Not wishing to disrupt her concentration, he wills his large feet to be silent, and hovers in the shadows for a short time, watching with fascination.

 _Thunk_. The arrow hits the target, dead center. _Thunk_. Again, right beside the first.

Perfect. She is perfect, of course.

She turns and sees him, and he wonders if his thumping heartbeat gave him away as he steps into the dim light.

“That for me?” she asks, and he can only nod, stepping closer to hand her the weapon.

She twirls it, walking away, testing it out.

“This’ll work,” she declares.

He’s not sure what he was expecting, but even this faint praise makes him happy. He can see in her face that she is pleased, even if her words aren’t as complimentary as he had hoped.

He finds his voice. “Last time you saw me, you wanted me to come to Winterfell. Took the long road, but…”

She twirls the staff again, walking towards him now. “What did the Red Woman want with you?” she asks, still advancing on him.

He steps aside to avoid being hit. This is not how he expected this conversation to go. He takes a breath, knowing he needs to answer her and answer her truthfully.

“She wanted my blood. For some kind of spell,” he says, looking away.

“Why your blood?” she asks, her voice level.

He looks at her. “I’m Robert Baratheon’s bastard,” he answers, and gets the satisfaction of seeing genuine surprise on her face. She abruptly stops toying with the staff. “I didn’t know until she told me. She tied me up, stripped me down, put leeches all over me…”

Now it is her turn to pause, and she looks down a moment before saying, “Was that your first time?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ve never had leeches put all over my co—”

“First time with a woman,” she interrupts, walking away now. She is doing a good job of hiding her annoyance and jealousy, and if Gendry hadn’t been so distracted by her line of questioning, he might have noticed it.

He might have noticed it and would have discovered that all the feelings that came flooding to the surface on seeing her again were not only felt by him.

Instead, he is suddenly defending himself, overcome by the need to convince her that he didn’t fuck that witch. “What? I—I didn’t… I wasn’t _with_ her.”

“Were you with other girls? Before that, in King’s Landing? Or after?”

_What is happening?_

“You don’t remember?” she presses, casually removing her gloves as though they were discussing the weather, not his sexual history.

He huffs a breath, growing frustrated and still not seeing what is happening in front of him. “Yes, I was,” he answers.

“One? Two? Twenty?” She prowls in front of him, looking like a predator, and he becomes flustered.

“Well, I didn’t keep count,” he snaps without really thinking.

She stops in front of him, and he just knows she can see right through him. “Yes, you did.”

He huffs again. She is relentless, and he decides to just answer her. “Three.”

Then she rakes her eyes over him, and it may as well be her hands for how it makes his body feel. That’s when it hits him.

_Oh. **Oh.**_

She begins walking towards him, a she-wolf closing in on her prey. “We’re probably going to die soon,” she says. Then she stops and swallows once, which is the only indication she gives that she might feel nervous about what he thinks she is about to propose. “I want to know what it’s like before that happens.”

She stares up at him, gray eyes wide and steady. Her left eyebrow arches ever so slightly, and _damn_ his honorable nature, because instead of immediately grabbing her and drowning himself in her, he makes a feeble attempt to protest.

“Arya, I—”

She doesn’t let him finish, surging upwards as she pulls him down to meet her. She meets no resistance because he is already instinctively leaning down. The moment her lips seal over his, unpracticed and messy and insistent, he knows.

He is lost, surrendering to her so completely that he knows in that instant that his heart will never belong to another. Even if she dies during the upcoming battle, no one else will ever possess his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't normally like taking scenes and dialogue directly from the show, but it was the only way I could satisfactorily complete this one.


	11. Like Nobody's Watching

_Great. Now I’m really late._ Gendry’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel as his foot presses the brake pedal. Already running late for work, now he has an unexpected traffic jam to contend with.

He reaches out, pokes the car’s touchscreen, and dictates a text to Tobho, telling him what’s going on.

Then he creeps forward a few yards and sighs.

A car pulls up in the lane beside him, and he can hear the rhythmic pounding of the bass from inside his car.

_I hope they go deaf._

Then he turns and looks at the offending driver.

His eyes widen as he sees a lovely young woman, unbothered by the traffic, singing along with whatever she’s listening to. And dancing as much as she can despite being seated and belted in.

He can’t help but stare. She’s positively _enchanting_. Her dark hair frames her heart-shaped face perfectly, making her large eyes stand out over her red-painted lips.

She sings along, feeling the hell out of her music, appearing not to have a care in the world. Gendry is fascinated.

They move a little more, but he makes sure to stay with her, feeling a little bit creepy, but watching her is definitely helping his mood.

Then she turns and sees him looking. His eyes widen and his mouth opens slightly to – he has no idea, honestly, because he can’t really apologize when she can’t hear him.

But she simply smiles and starts singing at him. _To_ him. Giving him his own performance.

Gendry feels his face split into a wide grin, an unfamiliar feeling for him. She ramps up a little more, Vogueing and even pointing at him once or twice.

Now he really wants to know what she’s listening to (and if she’s single). But he’s not brave enough to roll down the window.

Plus, they’re moving again. He’s never been more disappointed in the end of a traffic jam.

Her lane is moving a little faster than his, and he can’t help watching her car for as long as possible.

When she is out of sight, he reaches down and turns the volume up on his radio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired partly by Maisie's superbowl commercial and partly by a personal experience where I was at a stoplight and a guy in the car next to me who was clearly rapping along with his music turned and started rapping at me. I actually started laughing, but it was kind of adorable.
> 
> My thought was that Arya was listening to Lizzo. Or Janelle Monae (I can totally see her telling someone to "get off my areola" tbh).


	12. I Only Have Eyes For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Gendrya Valentines, which may or may not be happening IDK but I wrote it already so here it is.

“Ooh, who is _that_? He’s hot,” Jeyne Poole comments to her companion, blatantly staring at a young man a few tables away.

“Oh, he’s—”

“Yummy, I know,” Jeyne interrupts Sansa, still ogling him. “He must be new in town.”

“Yeah,” Sansa agrees, but before she can say more, Jeyne cuts her off again.

“I’ve never seen him before. I’d _definitely_ remember if I had. I mean, wow. I can see how blue his eyes are from here. And with that black hair? Who has that combo? I bet it’s not his real hair color,” she rambles.

This time, Sansa just shrugs, no longer trying. “Maybe.”

“Oh, shit.” Jeyne’s face falls. “Here comes Margaery.”

“Why are you upset? We invited her to meet us here,” Sansa asks.

“Because she’ll have to walk right past _him_ , and then I won’t stand a chance because of that damned Margaery Magic she has,” Jeyne laments.

Her frown deepens when she sees Margaery not only walk past the man, but stop and touch his shoulder and greet him.

“Shit.”

Interestingly, the man only appears to say, “Hey,” and then returns his attention to his phone. Even more interestingly, Margaery seems nonplussed about the situation.

She comes to the table and greets her friends with hugs and kisses, then sits.

“You know that guy?” Jeyne immediately asks.

“Of course. That’s Gendry Baratheon,” Margaery answers, picking up her menu. “I’ve known him for years."

“Baratheon,” Jeyne repeats. “That explains the eyes and hair,” she muses, slowly nodding, still stealing glances at him. “Wait, you’ve known him for years? Are you friends? He didn’t seem very happy to see you.”

“Oh, we’re friends,” Margaery laughs. “We had a few classes together at university. He’s brilliant. Great guy.”

Jeyne is confused. She doesn’t notice that Sansa has now entirely given up and is trying not to laugh.

“Really? Because I know you. You always at least hug your friends when you greet them,” Jeyne says.

Margaery sets her menu down. “Yes, and because I know _him_ and know his comfort level and boundaries, I don’t hug him.”

“Oh.” Jeyne steals a glance at him once more. He’s talking to the waitress and still looks pretty surly. “Does he ever smile?”

“How much smiling would you do if your mother died when you were four years old and Cersei Lannister was your stepmother?” Margaery asks.

“And Joffrey was your half-brother,” Sansa interjects.

“Good point, I guess,” Jeyne allows. “Still… is he single?”

Margaery glances at Sansa. Sansa opens her mouth to answer, but before she can say anything, someone else walks into the café and makes a beeline for Gendry.

“Oh, this should be good,” Jeyne says, a cruel smile crossing her face.

“Indeed,” Sansa quietly mutters, choosing to watch Jeyne. She knows what Gendry will be doing.

When Arya Stark walks up to him, he immediately stands and his face breaks into the sweetest, most warm and affectionate smile the three ladies have ever seen. Each of them wishes for someone to look upon them with such an expression of adoration.

But for now, they watch Gendry Baratheon staring at Arya Stark with hearts in his eyes as he leans down and kisses her softly but soundly. Then, a perfect gentleman, he lifts her coat from her shoulders and places it on the back of her chair before pulling it out for her. He only sits once she is settled.

“What. The _fuck_?” Jeyne almost whispers. “Arya? Arya _Horseface_? He’s into _her_?”

Now Sansa wheels on her, her voice sharp. “First, do not call her that. Second, yes, he is.”

“ _How_?”

Sansa sighs. “That summer we spent in King’s Landing, when we were younger? We all met then,” she explains, looking mostly at Margaery. “She was 12 and he was 17, but they got on immediately. They were inseparable, often bringing Jon into their shenanigans. We saw the Baratheons from time to time after that, but the two of them always kept in touch in between.” Then she looks directly at Jeyne. “ _You’re_ the only person who doesn’t like Arya, you know.”

Margaery nods. “Yeah, Arya’s great.”

Jeyne rolls her eyes. “Whatever.” Then she makes a face. “Wait, she was 12? Gross.”

“Nothing actually happened until she was 18,” Sansa says, as though it should be obvious. “And if you had actually let me speak instead of constantly interrupting me, I would have told you all this and also told you straight away that he is definitely not for you. Even if he hasn’t been in love with my little sister for 10 years, he wouldn’t be for you. Because he is good and kind and smart and a true gentleman while you are a hateful, jealous, petty little harpy that I am sick and tired of putting up with.”

Jeyne’s eyes widen in shock. Her mouth opens and closes a few times as she helplessly looks between Sansa and Margaery.

“You look like a dying fish,” Margaery calmly says, just before Jeyne stands, grabs her coat, and storms out.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Sansa says once Jeyne is gone. “I was dreading this lunch.” The reason they arranged their lunch meeting was to try to set Jeyne straight on her bad behaviors.

“She made it easy for us,” Margaery says. “Well, you did all the heavy lifting.”

“Felt good,” Sansa replies, exhaling heavily, in a satisfied way. While she and Arya are by no means besties, they’ve slowly gotten closer as they’ve gotten older and have learned how to appreciate their differences.

“Did you say 10 years? Wouldn’t Arya have been 12 years old 10 years ago,” Margaery suddenly asks.

The waitress comes and takes their order before Sansa can answer. She glances across at her sister and Gendry. Arya spots her and gives her a friendly wave, which she returns.

“That may have been a bit of an overstatement,” Sansa says with a laugh. “Arya has certainly been in love with _him_ since she was 12, even if she didn’t know it.”

“Good for her,” Margaery replies with a nod. “Is the big day this weekend?” she asks.

Sansa nods. “Tomorrow. I’ve still got the ring stashed at my place. I’m going to drop it off at his work at lunch because he wants to do it on Valentine’s Day.”

“Dork,” Margaery laughs.

“Yeah,” Sansa agrees, a fond smile on her face as she looks over at her sister and boyfriend.

“Good for her,” Margaery repeats.

“Yeah,” Sansa agrees. “Good for her.”


	13. Can I?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> contains smut. ish.

They’ve been on the road for years now. Never staying any place for too long, always moving, always keeping to themselves, Arya and Gendry have managed to stay alive.

Gendry would have stayed on with the Brotherhood, had even planned to do so, knowingly breaking his only friend’s heart in the process. But the very next night, when he was bringing Beric’s repaired armor to him, he overheard a conversation that made him drop the armor (quietly) and immediately run back to where Arya was already sleeping.

He scooped up their few possessions in one hand, then scooped up Arya in the other and started walking. When she began to protest, he shushed her with a soft, “It’s just me,” and the urgency in his town and uncharacteristic swiftness of his steps silenced her until they were well away.

It was then that he set her down and told her about the Brotherhood’s plan to sell him to some witch for a few bags of gold.

He was expecting an “I told you so” or, at the very least, a smug expression of satisfaction.

When she tightly hugged him around his middle, her face against his chest, he was so stunned that it took him a few seconds to react. When his arms found their way around her narrow back, she simply whispered, “I’m sorry.”

It’s been close to five years since that night. They keep moving. They talk about buying passage on a ship to Essos, where they can be anonymous and start fresh, but somehow, they never do.

They get information through gossip and eavesdropping. Arya is much better at it than Gendry, and fills him in on the important things when they are alone. They stay at inns only occasionally, when they have some money, and only in places far away from the larger cities.

Most of the time they sleep outside, huddled together for warmth. Sometimes they are lucky and find an unoccupied cave. As the weather grows colder, it gets more difficult to find free shelter and warmth.

He does odd jobs when he can, to make a little coin. Her skills are a little less practical and more difficult to hire out, but she does what she can as well.

Gendry used to claim Arya was his sister when innkeepers would look askance at them for requesting one room, but since she has gotten older (and one too many innkeepers have commented they look nothing alike), he’s started claiming she is his wife.

As she has grown older and prettier, more than one brothel they’ve passed has made her an offer of employment.

Her maturity hasn’t gone unnoticed by Gendry, either. He was there when she was a dirty little urchin disguised as a boy, he was there when she got her first moon blood, and he was there when she first attracted unwanted attention from a man.

He will always be there for her, even when he has no idea what he’s doing. Even when they make one another so angry they can’t even look at each other for a while. He knows this as well as he knows his own name. They are all they have. They are their own little family now, and he cannot fathom life without her by his side.

This is also why he feels tremendously guilty every time his hand finds its way into his breeches at night, once he’s certain she’s sleeping, and jerks himself to completion. He feels guilty because he is always thinking about her when he does it. About accidental glimpses of smooth pale flesh when she bathes. About her full, pouting lips. About her pert little backside encased in snug trousers.

Sometimes he allows himself to stare at her when he does it, and those times are usually followed by mornings where he is so disgusted with himself he can hardly speak to her, much less look at her.

She usually stalks away from him those mornings, muttering something about him coming to find her when he’s stopped “acting like a little bitch.”

They are at a small inn somewhere between the Stormlands and Dorne (they got out of the Stormlands quickly when Arya noticed too many people giving them both very strange looks, especially Gendry) when Gendry’s pent-up frustration peaks again. This time they are lying side by side in a bed just big enough for the two of them.

He prefers to do this when they are outside because there is more ambient noise to hide his shameful activities. He prefers _not_ to do this at all, in truth, but he is a healthy 22-year-old man lying in bed with a beautiful 17-year-old woman who has somehow wormed her way into his life and heart.

The fact that he had to glare down at least three other men tonight during dinner doesn’t help. The fact that she seems oblivious to her charms doesn’t help at all either.

 _If she was still with her family, she would have been married off years ago_ , he idly thinks. The thought is not comforting; it only serves to remind him of the fact that she is very much a woman grown now.

He sighs heavily, his fingers drumming on his chest where they lay. His swollen cock still insists on attention, despite his attempts to distract himself and redirect his thoughts. He goes over various smithing procedures in his head. He even tries to think about what almost happened to him at Harrenhall right before Tywin Lannister showed up.

But Arya Stark is as stubborn in his fantasy as she is in his reality, pushing her way into his head and refusing to be ignored.

“Fuck,” he whispers, then slides his hand below the blankets. He looks over at her sleeping form, telling himself he is watching to make sure he doesn’t wake her.

He’s as hard as iron, hot and smooth when he takes himself in his hand. He wraps his fingers around his shaft and slowly begins stroking himself, moving his fist up and down, up and down, his eyes trained on her soft, sleeping face.

Once, her name falls from his lips and he suddenly stills, waiting, hoping she doesn’t wake.

She doesn’t. She merely squirms a little in her sleep and her lips part just slightly.

His gaze is drawn there, to the fullness of her lower lip, wondering if it feels as soft as it looks. Wondering how it would feel against his lips. Against his neck. Against his cock.

“Gendry?”

He was so transfixed by her lips that he forgot to watch her eyes. He snaps to attention, his hand stilling, but not before she saw him moving it.

“What are you doing?” she asks, blinking a few times.

“Nothing,” he grunts out. “Go back to sleep.”

She obediently closes her eyes, and he slowly, guiltily resumes what he was doing. Unable to stop himself.

Then she opens them again.

“Can I watch?” she softly asks.

It is an innocent question, prompted only by curiosity, and he tries to remind himself of that when he answers, “I’m not doing anything. Go to sleep.”

She huffs and closes her eyes again. A few minutes pass, and his erection still won’t abate. Disgusted with himself, he slowly, carefully moves his hand back down.

Just as he decides to turn so he is facing away from her, there is a soft whisper in the darkness.

“Can I help?”

Her eyes are still closed.

“What?”

She opens them and looks up at him. He can feel her fingers reach over and touch his side. “Can I help? You know, with…” She looks at the lump below his waist.

“No.” He doesn’t bother denying it this time.

“Why not?” When he doesn’t answer, she says, “You were watching me while you were doing it.”

Now he closes his eyes, mortified and ashamed. He feels her fingers run over his brow, and he opens them again.

“I want to,” she admits in a whisper, looking down at his neck.

“Arya…” His voice is hoarse and broken as he still struggles to find his words. “If we do this… if I let you… touch me like that… there’s no going back.”

“I don’t want to go back,” she replies, her left hand moving from his chest downwards, under the blankets.

He can’t find it in him to stop her, but she moves slowly, like she’s giving him one last opportunity to say no. He swallows hard, watching her, as her small hand finds its target. He inhales sharply at her first touch, then releases a shuddering breath.

“It’s soft,” she says. “I mean… the skin is soft.” She continues her blind exploration, fingertips light on his sensitive skin. She traces the ridges and veins of him, her thumb sweeping over the head.

He grips the blankets, hard. Her fingers are slender but strong as they wrap around his shaft. She holds him for a second or two, then says, “Tell me what to do.”

“Move your hand,” he rasps. “Up and down, like… uhnnnng, like that. Not too tight… yes, just like that, _fuck_.”

One thing Gendry knows about Arya is that she’s smart. She learns things quickly and often masters these new skills quickly. Almost infuriatingly so.

This is no exception. In no time, she is stroking him like she’s been doing it for years.

And he’s not furious about it at all.

“Arya,” he groans her name, his voice husky with need as his eyes bore into hers. “I… I need…”

“What do you need?” she asks. “Should I do something different?”

“No,” he grunts, then finally gives in. He closes the distance between them and covers her lips with his.

She squeaks in surprise, her hand faltering, then melts a second later. She’s never kissed a man before so she operates purely on instinct, allowing her lips to follow his, to do whatever feels right.

He pulls back just for a moment, to allow his tongue to come forward and beg for entrance at her lips. She parts them and he slants his mouth over hers, hungry for her.

“Wait,” Gendry gasps a few seconds later, pulling away and flipping down the blankets.

“What? Where are…?” Arya watches, puzzled, her hand still idly holding his cock as he lifts his hips and tugs his trousers down until he can kick them off. “Oh…” she gasps, now able to see all of him.

She sits up, fascinated. She’s caught glimpses of men’s cocks here and there in the past, just by accident, but she’s never seen one in this state before. She stares at him, at her hand around him. Even in the dim light she knows this image will be burned into her memory for the rest of her life.

“Do they all get this big?” she asks as she lies down again, her hand resuming its movements.

“I… I don’t know,” he gasps, tilting his head back, his eyes shut tight. “I don’t… look…”

She moves closer to him again and kisses his neck, hoping to draw his lips back down to hers. She liked that. She keeps placing soft kisses on his neck and jaw until he finally turns his head.

“Kiss me some more,” she says.

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

This time she meets him, lips already parted. He plunges his tongue inside, sliding it against hers, exploring her mouth as thoroughly as her hand explores his body. Once or twice her busy hand slid lower, fingers instinctively gentle on his balls, before returning to his shaft.

Gendry is still mostly flat on his back, Arya leaning over him, her hand working him over while their mouths plunder one another.

She doesn’t notice his arm moving until she feels his hand on her side, his long fingers lightly digging into her ribcage. She opens her eyes for a second and sees his right arm has crossed over his body to touch her, and before she can get used to the intimate touch, it gets more intimate, because his hand moves to lightly cup her breast.

“Oh…” she sighs, the sensation sending a flood of warmth through her. Then his thumb skates over her nipple and she gasps.

“Sorry,” he mutters against her lips. “Faster,” he unthinkingly adds.

“Do it again,” she whispers. He does, and she shivers despite the heat coursing through her. Heat that seems to be pooling between her legs.

“Arya.” Her name falls from his lips again as he tears them away from hers. His body tenses and she feels his cock pulse in her hand as he comes, spurting thick and white across his chest. “Keep going,” he breathes, “slowly though.”

She follows his directions, holding him until he’s soft again. Then she gently releases him before moving to kiss him again. She likes kissing him, she decides.

He likes kissing her, too, thankfully, and does so tenderly this time. Less urgency, but just as much feeling. Possibly more.

“Thank you,” she says, and he looks at her like she has gone insane.

“You’re thanking me? No. Thank _you_ , Arya,” he corrects, kissing her again. “That was… you are…”

“Was it as good as when you do it yourself?”

“No. It was better.”

She gives him a sleepy smile and moves to curl against his side.

“Wait,” he says, groping for his discarded trousers. She thinks he’s going to put them back on, but instead he uses them to clean his chest off. “I’ll rinse those out in the morning,” he mumbles, tossing them to the floor.

He gathers her to his side now and lets her snuggle against him the way she wanted to before. “So are we changed now?” she asks.

“No,” he answers.

“But—”

“We’re still the same as what we always were. I’m yours and you’re mine,” he explains. “Only now we’re better than before because we are each other’s _completely_.”

“Oh,” she replies with a smile. “I didn’t know you felt that way. Before. About us.”

“Arya,” he says, looking down at her until she looks up at him. “You’re the only person who hasn’t left me. You’re the only person I trust completely. You’re the only person who _really_ knows me. This happening between us,” he pauses, kissing her once more, “was inevitable.”

“Why did you resist then?” she asks.

“I was embarrassed,” he answers.

“It’s only me,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. Before he can argue she adds, “You know, me. Your _wife_.”

He laughs then and squeezes her to his side, loving her a little bit more. “You always have the right thing to say,” he says.

“That’s because I know you,” she says, emphasizing his earlier point for him.

“I know,” he answers. “And I think I love you a little bit for it.”

“Good,” she replies. “Glad that’s settled then.” She settles her head on his shoulder and sighs. “I think I love you a little bit too.”

“Good,” he echoes.

“Gendry?”

“Go to sleep, Arya.”

xXx

Gendry wakes the next morning to an empty bed. He sits bolt upright, immediately on high alert, looking for Arya. When he sees her bag still on the table, he exhales. _She’s probably gone down to get something to eat_ , he reasons, and flops back onto the bed.

His eyes close for a moment, and the door opens. He looks over to see her coming in, dressed in a heavy coat with a cap on her head. Her hair, now long, is all tucked into the hat, and it looks like she’s smudged some soot from the fireplace on her face.

“I just got us passage on a ship to Essos,” she says, pulling the hat off. Her braid falls out and uncoils down her back. “But you need to cut my hair.”

“Essos? What…”

“Haven’t we always talked about it?” she asks, walking over to sit beside him on the bed. Her eyes lazily roam down over his chest as she notes he is still naked. “Going to Essos and trying to have a normal life away from all this madness?”

“Well, yes, but…” he trails off and shakes his head. “Why do I have to cut your hair?” he asks, as if that part just registered with him. He reaches out and lifts the end of her braid, rubbing the hair between his fingers. He found he quite likes her hair long, though she rarely wears it free and loose.

“Because we’re going as crew. We don’t have enough coin to be passengers. I’m to be the captain’s cabin boy and you’re a deckhand because I told them my older brother was built like a bull,” she explains.

“Oh. So you’re Arry again then, hmm?” he asks. “Is that safe in such close quarters?”

“We’ll find out,” she answers, flopping down and laying her head on his chest. “You’ll protect me.”

“You can protect yourself,” he answers with a chuckle. “And I’m keeping your braid.”

She laughs. “If anyone sees it, you can say it is from your lover, who died tragically,” she says, thinking that is just the sort of story Sansa would have liked when they were children.

“Or it belongs to the woman I am going to meet in Essos,” he supplies. “She cut it off out of grief over having to leave Westeros and gave it to me as a remembrance.”

“That’s closer to the truth,” Arya allows. Then she lifts her head. “Isn’t it?” she asks, suddenly unsure.

Gendry leans his head up and kisses her lips. It is a soft kiss of reassurance. “Yes,” he says, giving her a soft smile before dropping his head back onto the pillow.

“Come on. We’re sailing in two hours,” she says, slaps his chest once, then gets up again.

He slides out of bed, pulls some fresh trousers on, and walks over to her, where she is seated in a chair with a knife in her hand. “By the way, your name is Clovis.”

He makes a face. “Ugh.”

“I know, it’s awful, right? But it was the first name that came to mind, so you’ll have to deal with it for a little while.”

He lifts the knife to the base of her braid and says, “As you wish, milady.”


	14. The Uncommon Cold

“Can I hel— oh hey, Arya!” Hot Pie warmly greets Arya Stark as she walks up to the counter at his restaurant.

“Hey, Hot Pie,” she replies, her voice a little deeper than it usually is. She woke up feeling like crap this morning and had put in an order for some chicken soup from her friend’s restaurant.

“Oh, are you sick?” he asks, brow furrowing.

Arya manages a small smile. Hot Pie is a doll, he really is, but if it doesn’t involve food, he can be a bit oblivious.

“Yeah, I woke up with this stupid cold,” she says.

“You were fine last night,” he says, then turns around and finds her order. “More than fine, from what I can remember.”

Arya’s eyes widen. She didn’t think he noticed.

_“You are so fucking sexy,” her tall dance partner had muttered into her ear. The song had just switched from fast to slow, and instead of parting ways, he had grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his arms._

_She blinked up at him in surprise, unaccustomed to this kind of attention from men. Arya was always the cute girl’s friend, never the direct subject of male attention herself. “What?” she asked, feeling stupid. “I mean, I am?”_

_“Gods, yes,” he answered, pulling her even closer. “I saw you come in with your friends and haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you.”_

_“Oh,” she had dumbly answered, beginning to wonder if this was some sort of joke. She came in with Meera, Lyanna, and Margaery, so she had been expecting a night of sitting back and watching her friends get chatted up. What’s more, this guy was seriously gorgeous. Tall, thick black hair, broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist over a killer ass. But his most impressive feature by far were a pair of the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Eyes that were currently gazing down at her like she was the most fascinating person in the entire world._

_“You’re… you’re pretty fit. Very fit,” she said, feeling like she should return some sort of compliment. She even punctuated it by running one hand down his chest and back up. “Is that your real eye color?”_

_He gave her an amused half-smile and nodded. “Yeah. Is that yours?”_

_“What? Gray is the most boring color in the world!”_

_“Not to me it isn’t.”_

“Um, yeah. I was fine when I went to bed last night,” she answers. “Alone,” she adds, for good measure.

Hot Pie laughs. “Yeah, I know you were alone.” He hands her the bag containing a quart of soup, some bread, and a slice of pie. “No.” He pushes her money away. “And don’t argue.”

“Thanks,” Arya says and puts her money back in her purse. “How did you know I was alone?” she asks. “That’s kind of creepy.”

“Because I was the designated driver last night and I took Gendry home. That’s the bloke you were snogging last night. His name is Gendry and he’s been my friend for years,” he explains.

She stares at him, jaw hanging open. _Gendry_. She never even got his name last night. “You… how have I never met him before last night?”

“He was in Storm’s End for a few years, but he’s back now,” he answers with a shrug.

Her mind swirls with questions and she suddenly feels a little dizzy but chalks it up to her cold. “Huh,” is all she can manage. Then she sneezes into the bend of her elbow.

“Bless you.”

“Thank you.”

“Go home and get some rest,” he says, giving her a friendly smile.

She takes the bag off the counter, thanks him again, and turns to leave. She takes three steps before turning back again. “Hey, Hot Pie!”

“Yeah?” he answers, coming forward again.

“Have you talked to him this morning? Gendry?”

“No, why?”

She walks back over to the counter. “It just occurred to me that if _I_ have a cold… after last night, well…”

_He had pulled her into a secluded booth in the corner of the bar when the music turned fast again. The slow danced they shared had devolved into slowly swaying in each other’s arms while sharing soft kisses. What had started out shyly enough quickly turned into something needier, so when the music changed, they took it as their cue to continue their exploration elsewhere._

_“I probably should have asked you this already, but you’re single, right?” he asked, sliding into a secluded booth in the back corner of the bar. He slides as close to her as he can, crowding into her personal space and immediately wrapping one arm around her shoulders._

_“Yeah. You?” she answered, and when he nodded, she couldn’t help blurting, “How can you possibly be single?”_

_He kissed her like he couldn’t help himself before answering, “My friends tell me I’m too picky,” he said, nuzzling her cheek before feathering soft kisses down the column of her neck._

_Before she could ask any follow-up questions, he gently took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and guided her lips back to his._

_He could really kiss, and seemed to know exactly how she liked to be kissed. Exactly where that sensitive spot on her neck was. Exactly how far she was comfortable going._

“Let me give you his number,” Hot Pie says, taking a scrap of paper and writing some numbers on it.

“Can’t you just text him?” Arya asks, biting her lower lip. She’s not sure how this Gendry will take her texting him after last night.

“I have a business to run,” he answers, handing her the number.

She looks down at it. “You actually _know_ his number? What century are we in?” She figured he would have just texted her the number from his phone.

“Go home, Arya,” he laughs.

“Fine,” she huffs in mock exasperation. “Thanks again, Hot Pie. You’re a solid bloke.”

“You’re welcome, Arya. Hope you feel better.”

Arya refuses to look at the phone number until she is once again at home, back in her jammies, on her couch with her soup.

It is the most awkward text she’s ever sent.

_Hi, I’m Arya. From last night. At the bar. We danced and… stuff. I got your number from Hot Pie._

She sends it before she can talk herself out of it, then puts her phone face-down on the coffee table while she eats her soup.

When her phone vibrates, her heart stops and she hesitantly reaches for it.

_I’ll have to thank Hot Pie for that. I’m Gendry. But you probably know that by now._

She sighs, relieved that he seems to be feeling about as awkward as she is.

_A: Weird question, but are you feeling okay today?_

_G: Yeah, why? Should I not?_

_A: I woke up with a terrible cold. So… sorry in advance if you take sick._

_G: Thanks for the warning._

xXx

Two days later, Arya is feeling marginally better, but not much. She tried going to work but makes it less than half the day before she throws in the towel. She stops at Hot Pie’s again for more soup (and pie), then goes home.

She is just starting to doze off on the couch when an insistent knock on her door jolts her awake.

“The _fuck_ ,” she huffs, then stomps to the door. She unthinkingly yanks it open without first checking to see who it is, and is stunned to see _him_ standing there. “Gendry,” she whispers.

His eyes are bleary and his nose is red. “Hot Pie told me this is the absolute place to _be_ if you’re sick. Especially if it’s a nasty cold caught from a gorgeous girl you met in a club a few days ago,” he says.

She stares at him a second more. “I’m so sorry,” she blurts. “I didn’t know!”

“How could you have known?” he asks. “Can I come in?”

“Oh! Yes, sorry,” she answers. When he walks in, she sees he has a bag from Hot Pie’s too. A big one.

“He sent more soup for us,” he says, sniffling as he sets it on the counter. She offers him the box of tissues, and he plucks one out. “Thanks.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but why did you come here?” she asks.

He shrugs one massive shoulder. “Thought we could convalesce together. Seeing as how you got me sick and all.”

“Are you sure it was me?”

“Does it matter?” he asks. “Do… do you want me to leave?”

“No!” she answers too quickly, then, “No, I don’t want you to leave.” She stares at him for a few seconds, then says, “I was just about to take a nap when you knocked.”

He takes a step closer to her. “That… sounds bloody _amazing_ right now,” he says.

She can see how run-down he is feeling and knows she probably looks similar. “Come on,” she says, taking his hand and pulling him towards her bedroom. “I was napping on the couch but I don’t think we’ll both fit comfortably.”

“Okay,” he answers, not really caring as long as he can sleep. Preferably with her in his arms. He was overjoyed when she texted him the other day, and even more so when he found out Hot Pie was friends with her.

_Gendry felt drunk, despite only nursing two and a half beers all night. He was drunk on her. She was perfect. A tiny goddess with large gray eyes and lips just begging to be kissed. By him. A petite, lithe little body that seemed to know exactly how to move against his lumbering form and make him not feel like a bull in a china shop._

_And when she proved to be as attracted to him as he was to her, he grew much bolder, pulling her close and even risking a kiss right there on the dance floor. A kiss she willingly reciprocated._

_Pulling her with him to a booth was a risk he was willing to take, and he quickly discovered that he would have been perfectly happy spending the rest of the night there, with her, pushing the limits of what could be considered decent public behavior._

_His hand had somehow found its way over a breast, drawing a soft gasp from her lips, even though it was over her clothes. For a second, he was worried he had gone too far, but then she had pressed it more firmly into his palm and slid her hand up his inner thigh. High up. Very high._

_He hoped she was as disappointed as she was when her friends finally tracked her down and declared they needed to leave, and, therefore, so did she._

Arya pulls the blankets back, shucks her hoodie and flannel pants and climbs into bed wearing only a tank top and underwear. Gendry dumbly stares at the wealth of smooth skin unexpectedly revealed to him and wills his cock to behave.

She slides into bed and he’s still staring at her. “You coming or what?” she asks.

He snaps into action, toeing his shoes off as he yanks at his sweatshirt. In seconds he is down to just a t-shirt and boxer briefs. He normally wouldn’t even wear those to bed, but that’s really not a good idea right now. Plus, he’s a bit chilled from being sick.

She willingly goes into his arms when he reaches for her, pulling her body against his. He kisses her forehead, then closes his eyes.

A minute later, he chuckles and says, “This is a weird first date.”

She snorts, then says, “Go to sleep.”

xXx

Their nap lasted a solid hour and a half, and they woke up slowly and groggily, in denial and puddles of drool. When Arya finally opened her eyes, it was to the sight of a muscular neck, and when she looked up, two cornflower blue eyes were staring down at her.

“You hungry?” Gendry asks. “Because I’m hungry.”

“Yeah,” she croaks. “Did you sleep good?”

“Surprisingly good for having a cold,” he answers. Neither of them have moved yet.

“Me too,” she sighs. “Let’s have some soup. Do you have meds?”

“Yeah,” he answers, finally releasing his hold on her. “I’m probably due for a dose.” He groans as he bends down to retrieve his sweatpants from the floor.

“Oh, I know that pain,” she commiserates, bending at the knees to pick her flannel pants up so as not to aggravate her inflamed sinuses.

A short time later, they are on the couch with their soup, and Arya decides to ask the question that has been on her mind since he appeared at her door. “Why did you come over here?” 

“I told you already,” Gendry answers, not looking up from his soup.

“Yes, but I want you to tell me the truth this time,” she presses.

“That was the truth!” he insists.

“The _whole_ truth.”

He sighs. “Fine. I wanted to see you again. I didn’t care that you were sick because I’m sick too. In fact, I’m glad I got sick because that gave me an excuse.”

“I’m surprised Hot Pie gave you my address like that,” she comments.

She doesn’t sound angry about it, so he says, “Yeah, well… he knows how far gone I’ve been since Saturday night.”

Arya sets her spoon down and turns to look at him. “What?”

Gendry does the same, wanting to give her the same courtesy. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head,” he says. “I tried asking you for your name when you left, but you were too far away. Your friends were very insistent.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I… wasn’t very happy about that. I wanted to know your name too. At least.”

“I was already planning on going back to that bar as often as possible in the hopes of seeing you again,” he admits, sliding his hand across the couch cushion to lightly touch hers. “It seems Fate and the common cold had other ideas.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, almost whispering. “I’d really like to get to know you, Gendry.”

His whole body seems to relax a bit. “Brilliant,” he exhales. “Because I want nothing more than to get to know you, too.”

“Didn’t you say you were picky about women?” she asks, half-smiling at him.

He laughs and looks down. “No, I said my _friends_ said I was picky. They kept trying to set me up and I was never interested in any of the women they tried throwing at me. Luckily no dates were actually ever set up, so I didn’t have to deal with that potential mess.”

“What was wrong with them?” she asks.

“Do you want my honest answer?”

“Obviously.”

“It’s terrible.”

“Try me.”

He takes her hand and lifts it to his lips, kissing it once before saying, “None of them were you.”

She blinks in surprise, then says, “Really.”

“Really,” he confirms. “I always knew what I didn’t want, but I didn’t know what I wanted until I saw you.” He scoots closer to her and leans in, gradually coming closer to her.

“I have a cold,” she automatically says, and as soon as the words are out of her mouth, she wishes she could snatch them back.

“I know. So do I,” he replies just before closing his lips over hers for a soft kiss that doesn’t last nearly long enough.

“Can’t breathe,” Arya gasps, pulling away.

“I know,” Gendry agrees. “Stupid stuffy noses. We need to get better, and soon.”

“Absolutely. Because as soon as we’re better, I am gonna rock. Your. World,” she promises, grinning at the stupidly dazed look her words brought forth. She pecks his lips once more, then returns to her soup.

“ _Definitely_ need to get better soon,” he mutters, then picks up his spoon.


	15. From the Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so this one kind of came out of nowhere and I wrote most of it in one sitting.
> 
> Also, in this AU the proposal did not take place.

The sound of clanging metal draws Jon’s attention, and he moves from his desk to the window to look out over the courtyard. He needed a break from reviewing the inventory reports Sansa had insisted he read, and was curious to see who was outside training.

It has been four days since his little sister stopped the world from ending. The dead have been laid to rest. The wounded are being cared for.

And down in the courtyard, said little sister is currently giving Podrick Payne a masterclass on defensive maneuvers while Lady Brienne – _Ser_ Brienne – looks on, arms crossed over her chest.

Jon doesn’t exactly know what happened to Arya during their time apart. All he knows is that she has somehow become one of the deadliest people he’s ever seen. He watches her with fascination, amazed at how someone so small can take down a man Podrick’s size. Not that he’s terribly big, mind, but he is significantly bigger and stronger than she is.

He also knows she bested Brienne in a sparring session before the battle. He would have paid money to watch that.

She moves faster and more fluidly than anyone he has ever seen before, and he is truly impressed at her speed and grace.

Pod falls to the ground again, the tip of Arya’s tiny sword pointed at his neck. Jon can see the puff of steam from Arya’s mouth when she simply says, “Dead.”

Podrick nods and, exhausted, allows Brienne to help him to his feet again. Ser Jaime approaches them, says a few words, nods deferentially to Arya, and then the three of them leave her alone in the courtyard.

Instead of leaving, Arya stays and continues practicing alone.

Jon thinks about going down to join her, but then he spots the motion of someone else walking towards her. He focuses his attention on them, and sees the blacksmith, now Lord Gendry Baratheon, walking towards her.

_What does he want with Arya?_

Arya doesn’t see him approach; her back is to him. Jon’s eyes widen as he anticipates what is going to happen next: Gendry is going to startle her and she’ll wheel around and stab him in the chest.

He opens his mouth, but before he can shout a warning, Arya turns and looks at Gendry.

_Of course. She heard him coming._

No one has ever been able to sneak up on Arya. Jon does remember that much, smiling fondly for a moment.

His smile falls abruptly as the point of Arya’s sword goes to Gendry’s neck anyway. Then Jon’s brow furrows as Gendry simply grins and nudges the blade aside with the back of his hand, as if it was a mere annoyance.

Even more confusing is the fact that she lets him do it. She lowers her sword and looks up at him.

Jon can only see Gendry’s face, not Arya’s. He even leans out the window and turns his head as though that might help, but all he can see is the two of them talking.

_They seem very familiar with each other._

Then Arya does something that shocks him: she laughs. Hard. He hasn’t heard her laugh like that since they’ve been reunited and his mouth drops open. She pushes Gendry but he barely moves. And his whole face lights up as he looks down at her.

There is something in the look the new lord is giving his baby sister that sounds an alarm bell in Jon’s brain. _He is fond of her._

_No. He loves her._

Jon knows that look. He knows it painfully well.

He suddenly feels like he shouldn’t be watching them, like he is intruding on their privacy, but he can’t turn away. He never thought in a million years that Arya would be tolerant of such attention.

But she seems to not only be tolerant of it but _welcoming_ it. Reciprocating? He can’t tell.

Her feelings become clear when she laughs again, pats his chest once, and then grabs the front of his jerkin and pulls him towards her. His arms automatically fit around her in a comfortable, familiar way. Like they’ve been there before.

When Gendry dips his head and Arya lifts her face to meet him, Jon honestly thinks he feels a little faint. He even pinches himself on the arm to make sure he’s awake.

But no, he’s awake, watching his little sister _kissing_ a man. Kissing him like this is not their first time, either. Gendry pulls back a little but Arya tugs on him again, telling him that she’s not done yet.

Jon feels an unwilling smile pull at the corner of his lips. _She’s still Arya._

When she finally lets him loose, Gendry smiles down at her, says something, then gives her a small, respectful nod before turning to walk back to the forge.

Arya lifts her sword and swats Gendry on the rear with the flat of her tiny blade, and Jon can hear the other man’s indignant, “Oi!”

“Stop calling me that, _my lord!_ ” Arya yells after Gendry as he laughs and walks away.

Jon pinches the bridge of his nose and tightly closes his eyes, wondering what _other_ surprises are in store for him.

When he opens his eyes again, he sees Arya striding across the courtyard, heading the same direction Gendry had gone.

Jon turns away from the window and returns to the safety of the very much not exciting or surprising inventory reports.

_As long as she is happy. She deserves happiness._

The thought comes out of nowhere and seems to settle him. He sighs and returns his attention to his work, deciding his sister’s relationship is none of his concern.

He knows she is more than capable of taking care of herself.


	16. Better Than Ice Cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gendry, Mya, and Bella are all Waterses in this one, not Baratheons. Because it's my fic and I say so.

“You want some ice cream?” Ned Stark asks, looking fondly down at his youngest daughter, Arya. She decided to spend her summer after graduating high school with her father in King’s Landing instead of lazing around Winterfell.

Her mother thought she was crazy. Ned, being a politician, has to go to the capitol frequently, often spending weeks at a time there, so he has an apartment there. Arya had asked if she could go with him but stay there the whole summer, even when he goes back home. She is going to University in King’s Landing in the fall, and she wanted to take some time to get familiar with the city. Not only that, but she wanted to have some time to herself for the first time in her life, not something easy to come by in a family the size of the Starks. And Arya would definitely get some alone time this way, even if her dad was sometimes there.

“I’d love some ice cream,” Arya answers, smiling up at him. It’s a hot day, hotter than it ever gets in Winterfell, and they were walking home after a day spent in the Red Keep amongst the hectic world of Westerosi politics. Arya had tagged along with her father in a sort of impromptu “Take Your Daughter to Work Day” they decided to have, and came away with the solid knowledge that she is definitely not interested in a career in politics.

“This place is pretty good. Don’t tell your mum, but I come here almost every time I’m down here,” Ned says as he opens the door.

It’s a tidy place, not terribly large, and it smells wonderful inside. Like waffle cones and chocolate. Arya begins perusing the ice cream case, reading the labels of the available flavors.

“Hi, Lord Stark,” a female voice greets.

“Afternoon, Mya,” he says. “This is my daughter, Arya. She’s staying here in King’s Landing for the summer, and I thought I’d bring her to my favorite ice cream parlor. And how many times do I have to ask you to call me Ned?”

“As many times as I have to tell you that I am definitely not going to address you by your first name,” she returns, her blue eyes twinkling as she smiles. “Nice to meet you,” she says, looking at Arya.

“Hi,” she greets. “What do you recommend?” she asks. “They all look so good.”

“They all are good,” Mya says, walking over. “But my favorite is the s’mores.”

“I’ll have that then,” Arya says. “In a waffle cone.”

“Lord Stark, your usual?” Mya asks, looking at the older man.

“Um… yeah, okay,” he says, at least giving the pretense of thinking about it.

While Mya starts scooping, motion behind her catches Arya’s eye, and she looks over to see a tall, muscular young man walking back and forth, carrying boxes. She smiles a little at how incongruous he looks there, in his pastel pink t-shirt and a paper hat perched on top of a tousled mane of black hair. He does not look like he should be working in an ice cream parlor.

“Arya?” Mya’s voice snaps her attention back. Arya looks back to see the young woman holding a cone out to her. She turns around to see what Arya had been looking at. “Oh. That’s my little brother, Gendry. He just started here a couple of weeks ago.”

“ _Little_ brother?” Ned asks, smirking in amusement.

“Okay, _younger_ brother. You’re right; he’s huge,” she laughs. “Hey, Gendry!” she calls.

Arya finds herself holding her breath, inexplicably nervous. Especially because when he turns to face them, he is the most gorgeous person she has ever seen in her entire life.

“What?” Gendry asks, scowling.

“Fix your face,” Mya says. “Oh wait, that _is_ fixed for you. Gendry, this is Lord Eddard Stark and his daughter Arya. Lord Stark is one of our regulars. He always gets a double scoop of salted caramel swirl in a cup.”

“Pleased to meet you, Lord Stark,” Gendry greets with a respectful nod. He still doesn’t smile though. 

“Hi, Gendry. You can call me Ned,” he greets, offering his hand across the counter.

“Um, I don’t think I can do that, sir,” Gendry replies, shaking his hand. “But thanks all the same.” Then his gaze turns to Arya and he blinks a few times before stammering, “Um… hi.”

“Hi,” she replies, giving him a small wave with her free hand. “I guarantee you I won’t be getting the same thing every time,” she says. “This is really good, Mya, but I need to try, like, all the rest of these flavors.”

Mya laughs, then says, “Noted. Gendry, would you scoop Lord Stark’s ice cream please?” She looks at the Starks and then loudly whispers, “He still needs practice.”

“He can hear you,” Gendry grumbles, then leans down and reaches inside the case, scoop in hand.

Arya follows the movement with her eyes as her mouth opens to take in more ice cream, but she winds up staring, mouth wide open, at the muscles flexing in Gendry’s forearm.

“Arya,” Ned whispers, poking her shoulder.

“Hmm?” she asks, dragging her eyes up to see a very amused look on her father’s face.

“Here you are, sir,” Gendry says, handing the cup to him.

“Thank you, Gendry,” Ned says, then moves to the register to pay for their treats.

“Nope, this one is on me,” Mya says.

“You’re sure?” Ned asks. “I don’t want you to get in trouble or anything.”

“Oh, please,” Mya rolls her eyes.

“If you say so,” Ned says. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Hope you have a good stay here, Arya,” she says.

“Thank you. Nice to meet you Mya,” Arya replies. “And Gendry.”

“Yes, you’ll be seeing us again,” Ned says. “As you well know.”

“Have a good day, Lord Stark,” Gendry says. Then, the smallest smile curving his mouth, he looks at Arya and adds, “M’lady.”

“Don’t call me that,” Arya snaps, scowling a minute before stretching her tongue out to give her ice cream another lick.

She turns to follow her father to a table, so she misses the way Gendry’s eyes seem glued to her mouth and the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like they are itching to touch something. Or someone.

She also doesn’t hear Mya’s whisper of, “You’re staring.”

xXx

Ned goes back home to Winterfell that weekend, and Arya is alone for the first time in King’s Landing. Saturday morning was spent grocery shopping and running other errands, but by the afternoon, she was getting a little bored.

And she cannot stop thinking about Gendry at the ice cream parlor. The city is full of people, and many are attractive. She even notices a few that seem to notice her. But none has held her attention, stuck in her mind, the way that he has.

“Fuck it,” she says, slipping her feet into her flip flops and heading for the door.

The shop isn’t too far from her father’s rented flat, so she decides to walk. Give her a chance to rethink her thirsty actions.

_Damn him and his stupid forearms._

She rounds the corner and sees the shop’s sign: an outline of an ice cream cone with the words _Brain Freeze_ on the inside, all done in metal. As she approaches it, she finds herself hoping it is hanging securely, because if it ever fell, that pointy bottom would surely kill someone.

 _What if he’s not working today?_ The thought almost makes her turn around and go home. But then she decides that would be stupid and presses on, taking the last steps to the door.

When she enters, she is once again immediately engulfed by the wonderful smell of the place.

“Hey… Arya, right?”

_Shit, it’s him. Be cool, be cool._

“Hi, and yes,” she greets. “And you’re Gendry,” she adds, feeling dumb because he’s wearing a nametag.

But then he actually smiles at her and she immediately feels better, even if her heart thumps in an unsettling way.

“Back so soon, hey?” he says. He seems much friendlier today, and Arya wonders if it’s because he doesn’t have his big sister looking over his shoulder.

She shrugs. “My dad went back up to Winterfell, so I’m on my own for a bit. Got bored sitting at home, so I decided some of your excellent ice cream would be just the thing,” she says, absentmindedly gnawing her lower lip as she peruses the flavors again. “Okay, last time I asked Mya what she recommended.” She looks up at Gendry and almost forgets her name when she notices for the first time how unbelievably _blue_ his eyes are. “W-what can you recommend for me?”

“Oh, um…” he blushes and looks down, then back up at her. “My favorite is the peanut butter cup.”

“I’ll have that then,” she decides.

He grabs a waffle cone and leans down to scoop. She watches shamelessly, this time noticing the way his bicep bulges when he bends his arm. He even has the short sleeves of his pink t-shirt rolled up a bit, and she wonders if he had to because they were too tight over the largest part of his upper arm.

He hands her the cone, and she really tries not to touch his fingers as she takes it, but apparently her lower brain is overruling her higher brain this afternoon, because her fingertips make contact with his for just a second.

She tells herself she is imagining things when it seems like he withdraws his hand a little slower than necessary.

“Thanks,” she says, then tastes the sweet treat, averting her eyes from his just as her lips make contact with the ice cream. “This is really good,” she says as she moves to the register.

“Hey Gen, can you get a couple of jugs of cream down out of the cooler for me?” a female voice asks just before a young lady comes into view. She has the same black hair and blue eyes that Gendry and Mya have, and is equally attractive.

“Yeah, just a second, Bell,” he answers, taking Arya’s money. He touches her fingers again. “Bella, this is Arya Stark. Lord Stark’s daughter. Arya, this is my _other_ older sister, Bella.”

“Hi,” Arya says, and Bella returns the greeting. “Do all your siblings work here?” she asks Gendry.

“Yeah, but now you’ve met all of us,” he answers. “And Mya actually owns this—ow! What?”

“She doesn’t want people to know!” Bella chastises him after smacking him on the arm. “You know how she is!”

Gendry rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but I don’t understand her issue with it. Besides, Arya’s not going to tell anyone.”

Arya’s eyebrows rise in surprise. Then Bella asks the question Arya was thinking.

“How do you know that? How long have you known her?” Bella asks. “No offense or anything, honest,” she quickly adds, looking at Arya with wide eyes.

Arya laughs. “None taken. I was wondering the same thing actually. Because it seemed like my dad didn’t even know that.”

Gendry looks at Arya for a moment, then turns his attention back to his sister. “I can just tell. She’s trustworthy.”

Bella narrows her eyes at her brother, looking at him like she’s trying to figure something out. Then she smacks him on the arm again, softer this time. “Come on. I can’t reach the cream and I need to make a batch of strawberry lime.”

“Right, yeah,” he replies. “Enjoy your ice cream and have a good afternoon, Arya.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you around,” she says, then decides to go sit at one of the small tables by the window and watch the passers-by.

“You like her,” Bella whispers back in the walk-in cooler, out of earshot.

“She’s a nice person,” Gendry replies, not looking at his frighteningly perceptive younger sister.

“You are full of shit. You _like her_ like her,” she presses, pointing up at the shelf.

“How many do you need?” he asks, ignoring her badgering.

“Three. Go talk to her some more,” she says, taking one of the cartons of cream while he takes the other two.

“Yeah, okay, sure. Because that wouldn’t be creepy at all,” he sarcastically replies, setting the cream on the table for her before walking back out to watch the front of the shop, where he stubbornly stays behind the counter.

xXx

Arya waits three days before returning to Brain Freeze. She wants to go back the very next day, but she resisted. Also, they were closed. 

She decided a mid-week treat was just the thing she needed to break up her day. It’s as hot as all seven hells combined outside, and she needs something cool for her belly.

 _And something hot for my eyes_ , she ruefully thinks, then immediately chides herself for having such a ridiculously corny thought.

But when she steps inside and sees Gendry bent over, picking up the pieces of a broken glass, she almost falls over.

 _That man has a serious backside_. She doesn’t see any sign of Mya or Bella, so she allows herself to openly ogle his ass, covered in snug, dark denim.

When he straightens up, sets the large pieces aside, and grabs a broom, Arya’s feet start moving before her brain knows what’s happening. She finds herself hurrying over, grabbing the dustpan, and crouching down to hold it for him, not even fully realizing her actions until he gives her a surprised exclamation of thanks.

“No problem,” she answers. “You alone here today?”

“Yeah. Mya had to a meeting with our accountant and Bella is off,” he says, sweeping the tiny glass specks into the dustpan, desperately trying to keep his eyes on his work instead of down the front of Arya Stark’s tank top as she stoops in front of him.

She stands and places the dustpan in his outstretched hand. “Everything all right?” she asks. “I mean, not that it’s my business or anything.”

“It’s fine. Just a quarterly tax thing,” he answers with a shrug. “Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies. “It’s awkward trying to man both the broom and dustpan at one time.” She waits till he’s behind the counter again before bravely adding, “And I thought it was a more productive option than just standing there ogling you.”

When he goes to hang up the dustpan and misses the hook, Arya grins and turns away so he won’t see her blushing.

Gendry gets the pan hung up and is grateful that Arya isn’t still facing him when he turns around, because he’s sure his face is beet red.

“What should I try today?” she asks, half to herself. “Bella isn’t here, so I can’t ask for her recommendation…”

“Her favorite is the peach cobbler,” he answers. “Probably because she created it.”

Arya looks up at him. “I’m not a huge fan of peach,” she admits.

Gendry can tell she genuinely feels badly about this, so he reaches for a tiny plastic spoon. “I can give you a sample, if you like,” he offers, waving the spoon in the air.

Her eyes light up. “Oh, that would be great,” she says. “That way I’m not committed if I don’t love it.”

“Always important,” he agrees, allowing himself one more second to take in her smiling face. _She’s so beautiful_. That thought is immediately followed by _She probably has a boyfriend_. That second thought pastes a scowl on his face that somehow stays there when he hands her the spoon.

It looks ridiculously small clutched in his large hand, delicately offered from between his thumb and index finger. He’s gotten a surprisingly large blob of ice cream on it, and she can see bits of peach and oatmeal and swirls of cinnamon.

She takes it from him, unable to avoid touching his fingers with hers because the sample spoon is so small. She looks at it, studying it closely for a minute before opening her mouth and giving it a try.

Gendry tries not to watch her lips and mouth, but it is pointless. He cannot help it.

Arya chews the ice cream a bit, then swallows. “It’s pretty good. For peach. Not really my thing though,” she says. “If I liked peaches, I’m sure I would love it.”

He can’t help smiling at her attempt to not insult the ice cream. “You’re allowed not to like things,” he says. “Everyone has different tastes, and that’s a good thing.”

“What’s your _least_ favorite then?” she asks, grinning as she hands him the sample spoon.

“Blueberry cheesecake,” he immediately answers. “Just not a fan of blueberries.”

“All right, I need to try that one now,” she says.

“If you insist,” he replies, taking another sample spoon and scooping out a little taste.

Arya can’t help noticing it’s a smaller chunk than previous, and tries not to laugh. She takes the spoon again, their fingers touch again, and her stomach wobbles again.

Gendry watches again, and the vague notion of wanting to be one of those tiny pink spoons drifts through his brain.

“Okay, this is really good,” she says, handing him the spoon back. “I like blueberries, and I love cheesecake.”

“A scoop of this then? Or… or do you need more samples?” he asks, his offer really self-indulgent because he just wants to watch her try the samples.

“Hmm,” she answers, tapping her lips with her index finger as she thoughtfully tilts her head. “I think I’d like to try the chocolate covered cherry.”

“Excellent choice, m’lady,” he replies, and a moment later he is offering her another little spoon, vaguely wondering what she would do if he fed it to her across the counter.

This time when she tries it, her eyes close and she lets out a small moan.

Gendry’s brain nearly short circuits. He doesn’t even hear her ask for a cone.

“Gendry?” she prompts.

“Hmm? Oh. Sorry. What was that? Another sample?” he asks. He can tell she’s trying not to laugh at him, but he doesn’t really care.

“I’d like this one in a cone. The chocolate covered cherry. In a waffle cone, please,” she repeats, waving the sample spoon at him.

He reaches out and slowly takes it from her, deliberately and blatantly stroking her fingers with his this time. He’s not really sure where this boldness has come from, but the soft intake of breath as her lips part and eyes widen and darken make it worth it.

“Coming right up,” he says, then he bends to scoop out a full portion for her.

Arya doesn’t even try to hide the fact that she’s watching him this time. She stops herself from pressing her face against the glass, but just barely. When he hands her the cone, she reaches out and closes her small fingers around his long ones and holds it for a second.

“You have really nice arms,” she says, deciding to be brave. But her voice is soft, almost seductive.

Gendry blinks once, and when she gently takes the cone from his hand, he looks down at his fingers for a moment before answering, “Thanks.”

She gives him a saucy smirk, quirks an eyebrow at him, then maintains eye contact with him as she brings her lips to the ice cream.

He watches, puzzled, as she moves over to the register. “You gonna ring me up or what?” she asks. She definitely doesn’t want him thinking she is flirting just to get free ice cream.

She’s flirting because she thinks he’s hot and has spontaneously decided to try and make her summer in King’s Landing a little more interesting.

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah. Right,” he says.

She pays, smiles at him, and starts to walk to the door.

“Hey Arya?” he calls, just as her hand touches the handle. She turns back to look at him. “Come back any time for more samples. It was the highlight of my day.”

She smiles at him, almost certain he is flirting – or trying to flirt – with her now. “I definitely will,” she promises.

xXx

Arya goes back the next day. She decided she no longer cares about being subtle.

When she walks in, Bella is at the register, and she tries not to appear disappointed.

“He’s fixing one of the ice cream machines,” the younger girl says.

Arya angles her head at Bella. “Hello to you, too,” she greets, strangely amused.

“Sorry, hi,” Bella replies. “I just assumed you wanted to see Gendry.”

Arya shrugs. “Who wouldn’t want to see Gendry?” she casually asks. “You probably don’t think so, but your brother is criminally gorgeous.”

“I have heard tell of such lore,” Bella answers. “Mya and I just always assumed it was a myth though.”

Arya laughs, perusing the ice cream case. She’s still going to get some ice cream. It’s really good stuff and she doesn’t want to be an obnoxious customer. She had decided to be bold, not rude. “Gendry had me try your favorite peach cobbler flavor yesterday,” she says.

“Yeah, he told me you weren’t a fan, but only because you don’t really like peaches,” Bella answers.

Arya sharply looks up. “He told you?”

Bella shrugs. “Yeah. I think he just wanted to needle me because someone didn’t like my favorite. I’m afraid I disappointed him by not really caring.”

Arya laughs again. “What’s your second favorite then?”

“The banana with dark chocolate chunks,” Bella answers, reaching for a sample spoon. “Here.”

“Yeah, I need this,” Arya declares after trying it. “In a dish this time though.”

“Okay,” Bella says, then goes about scooping. She meets Arya at the register, then leans in close. “He likes you,” she quietly says. “He doesn’t like _anyone_ , but he really likes you. Like, really.”

Arya pays for her ice cream and asks, “He told you this?”

“He doesn’t have to. In fact, he stubbornly refused to answer when Mya and I asked him about it, which basically gave us our answer,” Bella says.

Arya takes a bite of ice cream, then says, “I like him too. And not just because of how he looks.”

Bella bites her lower lip, then says, “You want to go back and say hi?”

“Will Mya get mad?”

“I doubt it. She likes you. I mean not the way he does, obviously, but she still likes you. And your dad.” When Arya hesitates, Bella adds, “You look really cute today. Would be a shame if he doesn’t get to see you looking all cute like that.”

Arya laughs a little, still trying to decide if she is going to be _that_ brave. Finally she blurts, “Yeah, okay. Why not? I’ve got nothing to do on this good Thursday afternoon.”

Bella grins and suppresses an excited squeal, very quietly clapping her hands in delight. “Come through here,” she instructs, indicating a space at the far end of the counter.

Arya summons her nerve and walks through the opening. Bella points her the rest of the way, staying out front like the excellent wing woman she is.

Arya easily finds Gendry, and decides to linger in the doorway a minute, watching him work. His little paper hat is crumpled on a counter and he is leaning into a large stainless steel machine. She can see his back and part of the back of his head behind the open front flap of the machine.

He curses softly, pulls something out of the inner workings, then moves to set it aside before returning to his task.

“Is the patient going to make it?” she asks, smiling when he jumps in surprise.

“Arya! What are you doing back here?” he asks, taking a hesitant step towards her. His hands are dirty and there is a smudge on his face.

She loves it.

She takes a step into the kitchen, deliberately taking a spoonful of ice cream and slowly putting it in her mouth as she moves towards him. “Bella said I could come back here and say hi,” she explains. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he echoes, stepping forward again. “Banana chocolate,” he says, his eyes briefly flickering to her dish of ice cream.

“It’s very good,” she says, stopping right in front of him. “And it’s also a good thing I have a good metabolism and am very strict about my exercise regimen, or I’d wind up doubling my weight this summer.”

She holds her breath as his eyes rake over her body, down, then back up again. When his eyes meet hers again, he looks like he’s either going to devour her or flee.

He chooses the former, his head swooping down as his arm wraps around her waist. Arya barely has a chance to register what is happening before his lips are on hers, soft but urgent, like he is trying very hard to control his ardor.

She doesn’t want him to control it. She still has her ice cream cup in one hand, but she reaches up with the other, sliding her hand up his chest, her small, strong fingers curling into the cotton material of his t-shirt.

When she presses upwards on tiptoe, trying to encourage him to deepen the kiss, he pulls away, rambling apologies falling from his lips as he takes two steps backwards.

“Oh gods I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking I should have asked first and I’m sure you have a boyfriend and I just went and—”

“Gendry.” Her soft voice stops him midstream and he stares down at her, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

His mouth snaps closed, then opens again. “You don’t?”

She sets her dish of ice cream on the counter and takes a step towards him. “No, I don’t. Do you have a girlfriend?” she asks, stopping in front of him and resting her hand on his chest.

“If I did, I wouldn’t have kissed you,” he says, his voice husky.

“Just making sure,” she replies. “Some guys still would have.”

“I’m not like that,” he insists, his hand snaking around her waist again, drawing her closer. “Gods, you’re beautiful,” he breathes just before his lips find hers again. Just as she’s snaking her tongue forward to properly plunder his mouth he breaks away and adds, “And smart… and funny… and kind,” kissing her in between compliments. Then he gives her one hard, searing kiss, pulls back and finishes with, “Just so you don’t think I’m only interested in you for your looks.”

Arya can’t help it. She laughs, giggles spilling from her lips at how adorably earnest he is in his attempts to woo her. “Thank you,” she gasps, placing her small hands on his cheeks. “But I knew that. I mean, I knew you weren’t just interested in me for my looks.”

“Oh,” Gendry replies, blushing a bit. “Two older sisters,” he explains with a light shrug, hoping that’s explanation enough.

She nods. “Understood. I’m sure they drilled it into you,” she replies with a chuckle, wondering if this is the time to mention her four brothers.

“Are… are you interested in me?”

“Yes, but only for your body,” she answers, grinning to make sure he knows she is teasing.

Thankfully, he laughs before lowering his head again to kiss her again.

This time they allow themselves to fully indulge.

Arya’s ice cream is fully melted by the time she remembers it’s there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gendry's sisters have been making him drink his Respect Women juice since he was a wee lad


	17. Meant to Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by: https://www.facebook.com/thedodosite/videos/169606561071023/

“You should go outside for a while. You’ve been cooped up in your sad little flat for too long, moping. It’s a beautiful day. Get some sunshine,” Hot Pie suggests.

“Maybe,” Gendry answers with a sigh. He has to admit his friend has a point. Jeyne dumped him two weeks ago and while part of him was a little relieved, most of him hasn’t been able to shake off the harsh sting of being rejected. Again.

“Look, mate, I get it,” Hot Pie says, almost as if he’s reading his mind. “I get that you have abandonment issues, and with good reason. But you’ve risen past it before, and you can do it again.”

“I know… I just… _hate_ that I always have to,” Gendry replies. “You and Lommy are the only people who haven’t bailed on me.” Not exactly a fair comment, considering his mother died, so it wasn’t really her fault. But he’s not in the mood to be charitable right now.

“Why does that sound sadder than you probably intend?”

“Nah, mate, it’s definitely intended to sound sad.”

“Piss off,” Hot Pie says, but he’s laughing. “Get your ass outside.”

“To do what?” Gendry asks.

“I don’t care. Just leave your damn house.” Hot Pie replies.

xXx

Seated in the grass in a seaside park, staring out over the water, Gendry has to admit that Hot Pie may have been on to something. It is indeed a beautiful day. The sun is shining, there’s a light, pleasant breeze, and the temperature is perfect.

It’s the weekend, so there are children running around laughing. People are throwing frisbees and kicking footballs around. There is a family grilling burgers a distance away. There are even a few boats out on the glistening water.

_You’re really better off without her. You know that. She was getting demanding. And really bitchy. Acting petulant when you wanted to spend time with your mates instead of her. And don’t forget that how she acted when she was reminded of your bastard orphan status or that you grew up in the foster care system._

_But_ she _still left_ you _._

_No. No. She did you a fav—_

“Whoa, hello!” a wet nose and wiggling furry body forcibly jolts Gendry out of his brooding. He is assaulted by an aggressively friendly puppy who is crawling into his lap, nuzzling and licking his face. Gendry struggles a bit, laughing as he tries to read the tag on the collar of the pup. There is a leash dangling from the collar. “Hold still, you!” he laughs, grabbing the puppy and hauling it up against his chest in an attempt to immobilize it enough so he can see who belongs to this dog.

The tag only has the name “Daisy” on it. He flips it over and sees the name and number of a place called “Winter Paws Rescue.” Daisy is an adorable, floppy thing with soft mottled brown, black, and white fur, pointy ears, a long tail, and mismatched eyes, one blue and one brown. He guesses she must be some kind of husky, or at least partly one.

“Daisy?” he says, and the puppy wiggles even more excitedly. “Well, I see you know your name,” he chuckles. He looks around and doesn’t see anyone looking for her, and that troubles him a bit. He can’t quite get to his phone with his hands full of dog, so he decides to play with her a little bit before calling the rescue.

She really seems to like him. He tussles with her a bit, and she rolls onto her back, her tongue lolling from the side of her mouth as she gazes adoringly up at him from between his legs.

He rubs her belly with one hand, his other scratching between her ears. She playfully nips at his hand, which he pulls out of the way just in time. Then he moves it back to boop her nose.

She rolls back over and sits, plopping her little butt in the grass between his knees. He reaches forward with both hands, fingers massaging behind her ears as he leans his head down and taps his forehead against hers. When he straightens up and drops his hands, she tilts her head at him, gives him a puzzled look, then lifts her head and howls.

Gendry thinks he might die of cuteness, and reaches for his phone to call the rescue place because now he _needs_ this dog.

“Daisy! You naughty girl, there you are!” Her voice reaches him before he can dial. Gendry sighs and puts his phone back into his pocket, then looks up to see a young woman hurrying towards him. She’s tiny, so at first he thinks she’s a child, but she moves with the confidence of an adult. “I’m so sorry,” she says, only breathing slightly heavily. She plops down next to him in the grass and when she takes the leash he can see she is definitely an adult. Just a petite one. “Come here, Daisy girl,” she says.

Daisy simply stares at her from her spot between Gendry’s knees. “Um…” he says, trying to nudge the dog. “I’ve enjoyed our playtime, but you should go back to your owner now. I mean unless she’s looking for someone to take you off her hands,” he half-jokes, looking sideways at the woman.

“Actually, I’m just fostering her,” the woman says. “I thought I’d take her to the park and let her get some energy out, but it turns out she’s not only a slippery little devil but also has no concept of boundaries.” She watches as the dog moves, nudging her nose under Gendry’s hand, clearly wanting him to pet her some more.

“She’s adorable,” he says. “Just what I needed today, actually.”

“Oh,” she replies, a little surprised. “Okay then. I’m Arya, by the way.” She offers her hand, and he shakes it, much to Daisy’s chagrin.

She lets out a small bark, and Gendry returns his hand to her. “Gendry. You say you’re fostering her? Does that mean she’s up for adoption then?”

“Um… technically?” Arya answers. “I was kind of thinking about adopting her myself, actually. I haven’t decided yet though.”

“Oh,” he replies, unable to help the disappointment that rises in his chest. “All right.”

She studies him a moment. “I am still undecided,” she ventures. “I wasn’t just saying that.” He nods, and she says, “My brother runs the rescue organization, so I have plenty of options for dogs, really.”

He looks at her, foolishly allowing a kernel of hope to bloom. “Oh?”

“Here, give me your number,” she suddenly says, handing him her phone. “I’ll be in touch. She’s not ready to be adopted by anyone yet anyway. We want them to be at least housetrained first, and she’s not _quite_ there yet.”

He tries to take the phone but Daisy is still making herself the center of attention. Finally, he picks her up and hands her to Arya. “Here, trade.”

Arya smiles as she takes the dog back and it is only then that Gendry notices how pretty she is. Wide gray eyes, soft-looking pink lips, skin that looks like silk. Her blunt-cut brown hair frames her face perfectly as it blows in the gentle breeze. He tries not to let his gaze trail over her trim form and shapely legs before turning his attention to her phone, but he fails.

“Thanks,” he says. As he hands her phone back, he gives her a shrewd look. “You promise I’ll hear from you?”

“Yes, I promise,” she says. “Daisy, say goodbye to Gendry. It’s time to go home.” She holds the pup up to Gendry and he leans forward, letting her lick his chin.

“’Bye, Daisy,” he says. “Hope to see you again.” He scratches her behind the ears once more, then watches as Arya stands, setting Daisy down in the grass, holding tightly to the leash.

Gendry looks up at Arya, and feels his face smiling for the first time in weeks. “Thanks. Made my day actually.”

“I’m glad,” she replies, returning his smile. “I’ll text you. I _will_ ,” she insists, pointing at him for emphasis.

He watches her walk away, his attention divided between the adorable puppy who keeps looking back at him and the retreating but very pleasing form of her attractive guardian.

He exhales heavily, stands, and begins the walk back home. He decides to stop at Hot Pie’s for some dinner to take home, and as he walks in, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

_I told you I’d text you._

He smiles and adds her as a contact. _Thank you_ , he replies, then pockets his phone.

xXx

_A: Can I ask you something?_

Her text the next day takes Gendry by surprise. A pleasant surprise, but a surprise nevertheless.

_G: Sure_

_A: You said that meeting Daisy was the highlight of your day. Or something like that…_

He watches the three dots appear and disappear several times, and reasons she’s probably trying to find a way to ask what she wants to ask. He decides to just answer her question before she asks it.

_G: It was my first time out in a few weeks. Was dumped._

_A: Ouch. I’m sorry. Daisy wanted to be your new girlfriend._

Gendry smiles, and then she sends him a photo of Daisy, sleeping on her side on a hardwood floor right next to a very nice looking dog bed. He snorts a laugh.

_G: Almost made it there_

_A: Right? Maybe she was warm and wanted the cool floor IDEK with these dogs sometimes._

_G: Hey what breed is she? Husky?_

_A: We’re pretty sure she’s a husky/German shepherd mix._

_G: Cool._

He stares at his phone, trying to decide if he should say something about having enjoyed meeting her, too. Then she sends another text.

_A: I’m gonna be honest with you. I do really like her. She’s a great dog, and I’m getting a little attached. I know you really want her, but I want to be honest with you._

Gendry’s heart sinks a bit. He tries not to start with the negative self-talk, tries not to think things like “It figures” and “you don’t deserve such an awesome dog anyway,” but it’s really hard. He allows himself to punch a pillow and say one curse word.

_A: Gendry?_

_G: Yeah, thanks for being honest about it._

He tosses his phone aside and picks up a game controller, deciding to take his frustration out on some ice zombies.

xXx

It is Tuesday when Gendry hears from Arya again. He was both hoping and dreading hearing from her. He wanted her to send more pictures, but if he can’t adopt Daisy, it would just be torture.

_A: Hey_

He’s at work, and unable to answer her text right away. Unfortunately, she doesn’t know this, and by the time he gets to answer, she’s sent two more.

_A: I hope you’re not ignoring me_

_A: I have an idea_

_G: Sorry, I was working. What’s your idea?_

_A: Daisy has a sister. A littermate. Her name is Lily._

She sends a photo of another dog, slightly lighter in color with two brown eyes. She’s very cute and Gendry is sure she’s lovely, but she’s just not Daisy.

_G: Cute_

_A: Just a thought._

_G: I will admit I’ve been doing some internet dog rescue shopping. Daisy is still my first choice, but I’ve realized that I really want a dog_

_A: You should come meet Lily._

_G: I’ll think about it. I wouldn’t be able to till Saturday anyway._

_A: LMK_

_G: I will_

xXx

Saturday morning comes far too quickly, and Gendry rushes around his flat, cleaning and doing last-minute straightening up, just in case he comes home with a new four-legged friend. He picks up any food wrappers, beverage containers, and shoes, stashing everything where it belongs. He curses himself for waiting until the last minute to let Arya know he’d meet Lily, because that meant he hasn’t gone out to get dog supplies.

He knows deep down that if he did it would have jinxed the whole thing and he’d come home, dogless, to a house full of dog toys and food. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle that.

He and Arya had exchanged some more texts since Tuesday, and he could tell that she was very pointedly _not_ pushing him for an answer on Lily, even though she really wanted to know. The texts had been casual, almost random, and by Thursday morning, Gendry found himself looking forward to hearing from her.

Still, it took him until the previous evening to finally make his decision and let her know.

“Okay… I think that’s everything sorted,” he says to himself, looking around one last time. Then he sees the clock on the microwave, confirms it with his phone, says, “Shit,” and reaches for his keys.

When his phone goes off in his hand, he nearly drops it. “Hey, Arya, I was just on my way out the door,” he says, slightly breathless.

“Um, yeah, about that,” she starts, and he stops cold, just outside his door. His stomach feels like a bowling ball has been dropped inside it.

“Oh no,” he says.

“No! Oh gods I’m sorry! I’ve… I’ve decided that you should have Daisy,” she says.

“Really?” he asks, leaning back against his door because if he doesn’t he might fall down. Someone walks past and gives him an odd look, but he ignores them. “Really?” he repeats.

“Yeah. You… you need her more than I do,” she says. “And like I said, I’ve got my pick of the dogs at the shelter any time.”

Gendry says nothing. He’s afraid that if he starts talking she’ll hear how close to tears he is.

But he is silent too long, so she asks, “You there?”

“Yeah,” he shakily says.

“Oh wow, you… you really need this, don’t you?” she asks, her voice so soft and full of concern and care that now a tear does fall from his eye, which he swipes away.

“Yeah,” he repeats.

“Do you… do you want to come get her? She’s still not completely potty trained, but I’d say she’s about 95% th—”

“Yes,” he interrupts her. He’ll take a week off of work if he has to. Or work remotely from home. He doesn’t care.

“I’ll send you the address,” she says. “I assume you’ll be here straight away?”

“Yeah,” he says, not trusting himself to say any more right now.

“Okay, when you get the address, give me a heads-up on your ETA,” she says. “See you soon.”

“I will,” he answers. “Arya?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks. So much. Really.”

“Any time,” she replies.

The call disconnects and her text comes shortly after.

Gendry’s eyes widen when he sees how close she is. Her place is less than half a mile away, so he decides to walk there.

_G: We practically live in the same neighborhood. I’m going to walk over, so probably 10 minutes._

_A: Wow okay_

xXx

Arya’s flat is similar to Gendry’s, a row house sandwiched in amongst several identical neighbors, each with its own door to the street. He double-checks the number, then walks up and presses the doorbell.

When he hears Daisy’s bark, he grins and feels the tears at the back of his eyes again. He silently curses himself, because he thought he got it under control on the walk over.

“Hey,” Arya greets him, wiggling dog under one arm. “Just a warning, she likes to be outside, so you may have to watch her when you open the door. Hazard of the breeds she’s made of, I guess.”

“Okay,” Gendry laughs and happily takes Daisy when Arya hands her over, ushering him inside. “Hi, girl… yes, I missed you, too,” he says to the puppy, who is excitedly licking his face.

“Well, she obviously remembers you,” Arya says. “I just made some tea; would you like some?”

“Sure,” he answers, sitting on the floor with Daisy.

“I’ll let you get reacquainted while I got get it. How do you take it?”

“A lot of sugar,” he replies. “I’m a heretic, I know.”

“I don’t judge,” she laughs, then disappears.

Alone, Gendry immediately snuggles Daisy, squeezing her as tightly as he dares while she struggles against him. He laughs, kisses her, then sets her free. She lopes two paces away, then bounds right back into his lap. Apparently she is just as happy to see him.

“I can’t believe you’re really mine,” he whispers. Then she trots away, disappearing behind a chair for a second before promptly returning with a length of braided material, which she drops beside him. He reaches for it, but she is quicker, snagging it before he can get it. “Oh, so it’s like that, is it?” he asks with a laugh. He manages to get a grip on one end and is in the midst of a game of tug-of-war when Arya returns with the tea.

“Oh yeah, you can take that with you,” she says. “That’s her current favorite. I think it feels good on her teeth or something. There’s a squirrel around here somewhere too.”

“Brilliant, thanks,” he answers, turning his head to look as Arya sets his tea on the coffee table beside him. He decides to reach for it, and, to his surprise, Daisy sits beside him rather than demanding his constant attention. “You are a very good girl,” he says, and the puppy’s tail thumps on the floor a few times.

“She really loves you,” Arya says.

“Good, because I already love her too,” Gendry answers.

She must have seen something in his expression, so she hesitantly asks, “Can I ask?”

He nods, then sighs. “Logically, I know the breakup was a good thing,” he continues, sipping with one hand and petting with the other. Daisy has laid down beside him now, enjoying the gentle attention. “She… she turned out to be quite a bitch. The more I think about it, the madder I am that I didn’t end it myself sooner.” He sighs, stares into his cup. “I don’t like being left,” he quietly adds, almost to himself.

“If this is difficult for you, you don’t have to tell me,” Arya says. “We don’t know each other that well, and…”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m unloading all over you, aren’t I?” he interjects, eyes widening as he looks at her. But she doesn’t see discomfort or awkwardness in her demeanor; there is nothing about her that suggests she doesn’t want to hear whatever he might say. She’s giving him an out.

“It’s fine, really,” she promises. “I’m happy to listen if you need an ear. I just didn’t want you to think I was being nosy.”

He gives her a small smile, which she returns, and he is once again struck by how pretty she is. He idly wonders if she would consider going out with him sometime, but then he figures someone as cool as she is must have a boyfriend. “I’m an orphan,” he blurts, staring into the middle distance while still petting Daisy. “My biological father got my mom pregnant and then buggered off before she was even pregnant enough to show. So my mum said. I’ve never met him, don’t know who he is, and don’t fucking care either. Then my mum died when I was six, and because _her_ parents were dead and she had no other family, I was shuffled from foster home to foster home until I was 17 and decided I was done.”

“Holy shit,” she whispers.

“Everything I have… my education, my career… I’ve had to work for it. I did it all myself, because I had no one to help me. But I did it,” he tells her feeling that curious sensation he always gets when he talks or thinks about that, because he’s never sure if he’s angry that he had to do it alone or proud of himself for accomplishing it.

“That’s amazing, Gendry. It really is,” she says, and he allows himself to feel pride this time.

“So when I say ‘I don’t like being left,’ that really means I have abandonment issues. And I used to have anger issues as a kid, which was the reason I never stayed in any foster home for very long,” he says. “I’m in therapy. It helps a lot, but I’ll probably always be in therapy.”

When his eyes land on Arya, she simply says, “Why is it you’ve never gotten a dog, exactly? You want someone who’s going to be loyal, love you unconditionally, and stay with you? Dog.”

He cracks a smile, then a small laugh as he looks down at the warm bundle of fur beside him. “I guess I’m not always terribly smart. Kind of embarrassing, considering I’m an engineer.”

“Educated doesn’t always equal smart,” she says with a laugh. “I’m studying to be a vet, and some of the top students in my class can barely tie their shoes.”

Gendry fully laughs at this. Then when Arya admits she’s one of the top students in her class, he laughs even harder.

“My mum always said I didn’t have enough common sense to come in out of the rain,” she admits, laughing with him.

“Thank you,” he says. “For listening and not judging. And making me laugh.”

“You’re welcome,” she says. “I’m guessing your ex judged then?”

“Very much. She was a fucking snob, it turned out. When she dumped me she basically told me that while I was handsome and fit, I was still beneath her and she deserves to be with someone of a higher class than me.”

“What a fucking bitch!” Arya exclaims, causing Daisy to lift her head and bark. “Shhh, baby, it’s okay,” she coos at the dog. Daisy thumps her tail, makes a decidedly husky-like noise, and plops her chin on Gendry’s thigh.

“Thank you again,” he says, and his smile is sweet and genuine as he looks at her.

There is a heavy, charged pause in the conversation, and when Arya bites her lower lip and looks away, Gendry quickly reaches for his tea and drains the rest of it.

“Um, I… I guess I need to pay the adoption fee and… and go shopping for dog supplies,” he says, clearing his throat.

“Oh. Yeah. Right,” she says. “Jon said you can pay by check or if you have PayPal you can do that.”

“Oh that would be brilliant,” he answers, reaching for his phone. “Excuse me, Daisy, but you’re on my phone.”

She lifts her head at the sound of her name and he scratches her under the chin.

“You haven’t gotten supplies yet?” Arya asks once the funds have been transferred.

“I didn’t want to get ahead of myself,” Gendry answers, standing. “It would be too heartbreaking to come home to a house full of dog stuff with no dog.”

“Understood,” she declares with a nod, rising as well. Then she bites her lip again and asks, “Do… do you need any help?”

“You… you want to come with me?” he asks, hardly believing his luck.

“Well, yeah,” she says.

“You don’t have anything more important to do today?”

“Nope.”

“No… shopping you need to do or… or boyfriend that is going to be missing you?”

“No, and no boyfriend.”

“You’re not ready to give up Daisy yet,” he guesses, still unable to believe she wants to spend more time with _him_.

“Well, I’ll admit that’s a nice perk, but…” she takes a step towards him, “But I’d like to get to know you better, too. I mean, if you’re intere—”

“Yes.” He cuts her off before she even finishes, stepping closer to her now.

“Maybe we can get some lunch after?” she asks, looking up at him.

Her eyes are so big and gray and beautiful. He’s never seen eyes like hers. “I’d like that.”

She smiles. “Great. I know a great pet store where you’ll be able to bring Daisy in, and there are even a few cafés in town with dog-friendly outdoor seating areas. Let me get her things and we can go.”

Gendry’s smile falls. “I walked here.”

“I know. I am fully capable of driving. Unless you’re one of those sexist men who insist on driving all the time.”

“Definitely not.”

“Didn’t think so. Her leash and harness are by the front door. I’ll be right back,” she says, then walks away laughing while Daisy excitedly jumps around his legs, eager to go somewhere.

“Okay, you, let’s get you dressed and then I’m going to buy you so many toys you won’t know which one to play with first,” he promises as he kneels down. “And then I’m going to try my hardest to get your former mistress to fall in love with me as much as you have,” he whispers, kissing Daisy on the top of her head.


	18. Same Shirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a t-shirt ad I saw on Facebook. I think it was an ad, anyway.

“Single and ready to get nervous around anyone I find attractive” is what the shirt has emblazoned across the front in large letters. Gendry holds it up, scowling at it.

“No,” he declares, glaring at Lommy.

“You lost the bet. You have to wear the shirt,” Lommy replies.

“Sorry mate, rules are rules,” Hot Pie chimes in.

“Stupid fucking football team…” Gendry mutters, pulling the t-shirt he was wearing off and yanking the other one on over his head. He mumbles curses at the Storm’s End Thunderbolts footy team the entire time.

If they hadn’t lost to the King’s Landing Knights, he wouldn’t have to wear this t-shirt that Lommy had given him for his birthday a month ago. This embarrassingly accurate t-shirt that he immediately declared he was never going to wear.

Then the Bolts were against the Knights in the finals, and Gendry got a little cocky one night at the pub, aided by a few pints.

The wager was made, and Gendry wound up at the mercy of a skinny blond man with a devious mind.

“Now, now, don’t be a sore loser, Loser,” Lommy says.

“Piss off,” Gendry retorts. “Let’s get this over with.”

xXx

“Okay, yes, it’s true, but why is it emblazoned across the front of a shirt for all to see?” Arya asks. Objectively, she finds the shirt quite humorous. But because she has to wear it, it’s slightly less funny.

“Come on, Arya, it’s perfect and you know it! Besides, it’s my hen party, so I get my way,” Meera says, passing them out.

Arya’s “Single and ready to get nervous around anyone I find attractive” shirt is accompanied by “I’m pretty cool but I cry a lot” for Shireen, “Cute but psycho” for Lyanna, “I’m not trying to be difficult; it just comes naturally” for Sansa, and “I’M A VIRGIN (but this is an old shirt)” for Brienne.

“What does yours say?” Lyanna asks, pulling her shirt on.

Meera holds hers up. It says “Small boobs, big dreams.”

“Okay then,” Arya declares with a nod after seeing that everyone else’s shirts are just as obnoxious. “I rather like yours, Ly,” she says with a laugh.

“It’s great, right?” she says, striking exaggerated model poses. “Rick’s going to lose his shit when he sees it.”

“Rickon needs one of his own,” Arya shoots back, tugging her shirt down over her torso. “And Jaime is going to laugh his ass off at yours, Brienne.”

“He would, especially because he considers it a point of pride that he… you know…” Brienne trails off, her fair skin flushing red.

“Deflowered you?” Meera finishes.

“I think it’s sweet that you’ve only ever been with each other,” Shireen says. “It’s a rare thing these days.”

“Are we all ready?” Sansa asks, somehow still managing to look ultra-stylish in her t-shirt, which she cinched at her waist with an artful side knot.

“Yes, but the streets of King’s Landing aren’t ready for _us_!” Meera declares, marching towards the door.

xXx

The Iron Throne pub was the last destination of the night for the ladies. It was the only destination for the men.

The men who, as a group, roll their eyes when the six women noisily come in. They aren’t whooping or screaming or squealing; they are simply talking and laughing, but are doing so rather loudly.

Gendry only glances over for a second. “Bloody hen party,” he grumbles, then turns his attention back to his dart game.

He doesn’t even notice his cousin is among them.

Arya quickly learned she could enjoy the benefits of her t-shirt’s slogan while they were out. Men kept approaching her, expecting her to get nervous, and when she didn’t, their reactions varied from indignation to resignation.

Gendry’s experience with his shirt was similar, but it mainly involved him being generally disinterested and women just giving up.

While Arya reveled in the effects her shirt had, Gendry hardly noticed his. In fact, he forgot he was wearing it as the night wore on.

“Mate, isn’t that Shireen?” Lommy asks, poking Gendry in the side just as he was getting ready to throw.

Gendry sighs and drops his arm, dart still dangling from his fingers. “Yeah, that’s her. I do remember her saying something about a hen party tonight for Meera Reed, but… holy fuck…”

Lommy follows his friend’s gaze and nearly falls over laughing. Standing there beside Shireen and an exceedingly tall blonde is a very pretty, very petite woman wearing a shirt with the exact same slogan as Gendry’s shirt.

“She just stepped out from behind that tall one,” Gendry says, his voice failing him. She’s the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen. He turns and throws his dart, but he misses his mark because his hands are sweaty now.

“That was terrible, mate,” Hot Pie says, walking over. “Oh. I see why now,” he adds, seeing the mild look of panic now settling over his friend’s face. “What are the odds?”

“Oh shit, look at him!” Lommy exclaims, thoroughly enjoying himself. “He’s proving the words on his shirt are true right now!”

Gendry reaches out to shove Lommy, but that just when she looks across the pub and her gaze settles over them. Her eyes widen and she quickly turns around. Gendry’s arm drops.

“Arya, what… oh. _Oh._ Oh, that is too good,” Sansa says, her shrewd eyes finding her sister’s shirt twin. “You need to go talk to him.”

“No way,” Arya says.

“Yes way,” Meera counters, agreeing with Sansa.

“He’s not going to want anything to do with me,” Arya protests, gnawing on her bottom lip. “He’s fucking gorgeous and I’m… me.”

“You are also fucking gorgeous and I will fight anyone who says otherwise,” Meera argues.

“Bloody hell, that’s my cousin Gendry!” Shireen exclaims.

“That’s your _cousin_?” Arya asks. “You have a cousin that hot and you never thought to tell any of us?”

“To be fair, we’re related so ‘hot’ isn’t exactly a term I would use to describe him,” Shireen points out. Then she angles her head, looks at Arya, then Gendry, then back at Arya. “Actually, you would be kind of perfect for him,” she decides. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before…”

“What?” Arya’s eyes widen again.

“Go, Arya,” Sansa presses. “Go get you some.”

“Okay first, no more wine for Sansa,” Arya says. “Second, why?”

“Because it’s fate, and even if Shireen wasn’t here, you’d still have a perfect excuse to go talk to him,” Meera says.

“Go on, Arya. Take a chance.” Brienne’s gentle urging is what gets her to relent. If anyone knows about finding unexpected love, it’s her.

Arya nods, and lets Shireen lead her across the pub.

“Hey Gendry,” she greets, poking him in the shoulder. “Hi Lommy, hi Hot Pie,” she says to the other two.

“Hey Shireen,” they say as Gendry turns around.

“Hi,” he says, setting his darts on the table. Hot Pie scoops them up and he takes over for Gendry, playing against Lommy. “I didn’t realize your outing would lead you here of all places.” He glances at Arya and feels his face grow warm again.

Arya sees him glance her way, sees how he flushes slightly, and has a startling realization. _He’s nervous too._ The thought makes her feel a little better, but not enough to settle her own nerves.

“Yeah, we’ve been out for a while and decided to end at someplace quieter,” she says. “Oh, Gendry, this is my friend Arya. Arya, this is my cousin Gendry. I think the two of you might have at least one thing in common.”

“Hi,” Arya says, her bottom lip caught in her teeth again as she looks at him.

“Same shirt,” he blurts. Shireen laughs. “I mean… hi, nice to meet you.”

“You too,” she replies. “So… um…”

“I lost a bet. That’s why I had to wear it,” he says, guessing about what she was trying to ask. “Yours is for the hen party? I see you all have them. Shirts, I mean. With slogans.”

Arya nods. “What kind of bet?”

“Football. I’m a Storm’s End fan,” he says.

“Ouch, sorry,” she replies.

Neither of them have noticed that Shireen has already wandered away.

“I know, they’re shit, but it’s my home team, so…”

“You’re from Storm’s End?”

“Well, I was born here. But I grew up with my uncle in Storm’s End after my parents died,” he says. “Can I… can I buy you a drink?” he asks.

She holds up the mostly-full drink in her hand. “I’m actually good right now, but… maybe the next one?”

“Ah. Right,” he replies, looking at his feet and feeling foolish.

“Do you… do you want to sit?”

He looks up at her. “You… want to sit? With me?”

“Yes. I mean, if you want to,” she answers.

“Yeah, I really do,” he says, then follows her to a booth.

“I’m a Direwolves fan myself,” Arya volunteers once they sit.

“Really? Are you from Winterfell, or…?”

“Yes. Um, my last name is Stark,” she admits.

“Ah. I guess you are definitely from Winterfell then,” he says. “The Wolves are a good team, but they haven’t been quite the same since Snow retired.”

“He’s my cousin.”

“Fuck off!”

“No, really, he is! Ask Shireen if you don’t believe me!” she insists.

He holds up his hands. “All right, I believe you,” he says, chuckling, his blue eyes twinkling as he looks at her. “You’re really pretty,” he blurts. “Oh. Um. I’m sure you have a million other really good qualities too, but since I don’t know you very well yet, I—”

“Thank you,” she says, stopping his rambling not only with her words but with her hand over his on the table between them. “You’re… _really_ handsome. Your eyes are amazing.”

He takes a moment to stare at her tiny hand on top of his huge one. It’s really soft and cool and he doesn’t ever want her to move it. He wants to turn his hand over to hold it, but he’s afraid to try. “So are yours,” he finally says, leaning forward. “Are they… gray? That’s so cool.”

Her lips curve up in a small but sweetly embarrassed smile. “Thanks,” she quietly says. She fights the urge to caress the back of his hand with her thumb. His hand is so warm and his skin feels nice under her hand.

“Can I get your number? I… I’d like to make sure I see you again. If that’s all right with you,” he says. She removes her hand and he feels bereft, but she is reaching for her phone so he decides he will live.

“Definitely,” she agrees, then digs her phone out of her bag and hands it to him as he slides his phone across the table to her.

“So… how do you and Shireen know each other?” he asks, leaning forward over the table.

“Through Meera. Shireen was friends with Meera, and Meera is marrying my brother Bran, so now Shireen is _my_ friend, too, because _Shireen_ ,” she answers.

He nods, completely understanding. “She got the outgoing DNA in the family, like my Uncle Renly. He’s the one who raised me. Unfortunately, I got the grumpy DNA, which her father has.”

“Stannis? Ugh, he _is_ a bitch,” she says. “Not to say that you are… I mean, I don’t know you yet, but… oh dear… you don’t seem like a bitch, I promise!”

This time he puts his hand over hers to reassure her, and his heart almost flies out of his throat when she turns her hand over so he can hold it. “I am definitely grumpy,” he says. “Ask Lommy or Hot Pie. Or Shireen. But I’ve spent enough time with Stannis to know that I’m not as bad as he is.”

Arya smiles. “Somehow I don’t think you’re as grumpy as you say you are.”

Gendry swallows hard. “Maybe… maybe with the right person, I won’t be so grumpy.”

Across the bar, the five remaining members of the hen party are joined by Lommy and Hot Pie as they all sit and watch Arya and Gendry grow less and less nervous with each other.

When Arya leans forward, mirroring Gendry, they collectively gasp. When Gendry bravely lifts their joined hands and places a soft kiss to Arya’s knuckles, Sansa taps Meera on the shoulder.

“Is it too late to put Arya down for a plus-one?”


	19. Love is Blind

Gendry stares, frozen in place on his barstool, as three women lead a fourth towards him. The fourth is blindfolded.

_What the seven hells is going on?_

As they draw close, he recognizes one of them as a classmate of his, Margaery Tyrell. She gives him a friendly wink that settles him a little.

Until the two women holding the blindfolded woman’s hands guide them to his shoulders. 

“This is stupi—oh, hello, you’re quite strong, aren’t you?” the blindfolded woman says, her small fingers cool on his warm skin as she trails them up his neck to his cheeks. His eyes widen as she hesitantly explores his face a little. “You couldn’t find someone shorter?” she says, but he sees her lips curve into a smile.

And what lips they are. Pink and plump and perfect; he is transfixed. Then a small pink tongue nervously flicks over them and he feels his cock twitch.

“While we’re young, Stark,” Margaery says.

“Wha—” Gendry’s lips are stopped by hers as she leans forward and kisses him. His eyes widen at first, then drift closed as he surrenders.

This girl can _kiss_ , and she’s brought her A-game. He grips the edges of his barstool, determined not to grab her and ruin whatever game she’s playing by being a creep. Her tongue slides into his willing mouth and he tries not to moan as it luxuriously caresses his. He’s not sure he succeeds, because a moment later she slowly pulls away. Her mouth widens into a grin as she giggles a little bit.

To his dismay, she doesn’t remove the blindfold. He wants to see her whole face.

Instead, she lets her friends guide her away, laughing and chattering to each other, back to their table.

“Fwoar, mate, what the fuck?”

“You lucky bastard, why’d they choose you? I’m literally _right_ here.”

Gendry sits there, silently gaping, not even sure if what just happened actually happened. “I have no idea what that was, but it was great,” he finally says.

“Did you know her?” Hot Pie asks.

“No, but I have a few classes with one of her friends. The one with the long brown hair. Margaery Tyrell,” he says.

“Shit, you actually know _Margaery Tyrell_ and you haven’t hit that yet? She’s, like, the hottest thing ever!” Lem comments.

Gendry rolls his eyes. “First, she’s not a _thing_ , she’s a person. Second, she is also a lesbian,” he says.

Lem hesitates. “Well, maybe she just needs a little—ow!”

Gendry smacks his friend on the back of the head. “Don’t be one of those fucking guys, Lem. Come join us in _this_ century,” he scolds.

“Yeah, I mean if that even was a thing – which it isn’t – _your_ cock is not going to convert any lesbian,” Lommy drily says, prompting laughter from everyone except Lem.

Gendry drains the rest of his glass, then slides off his barstool. “I’m going for a piss,” he says, then heads to the restrooms.

When he comes back out, _she_ is waiting for him. He nearly knocks her over, in fact, because he wasn’t looking where he was going.

“Oh, sorry, I wasn’t—oh, um, hi,” he says.

“Hi,” she replies, looking up at him, then down at her feet, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “Look, about what happened…”

“It’s all right. More than all right, really,” he says.

She exhales heavily, sounding relieved. “I just didn’t want you to think I was, like, sexually assaulting you or something. It was a stupid dare.”

“Ah,” he slowly nods.

“They were taking the mickey, saying that I’m brave about everything except one thing,” she further explains. “Of course I protested, then they dared me to… well, you know what happened.”

“I know Margaery,” he blurts, not sure if that information is helpful or not.

“Yeah, she told me after. She said she picked you because she knew you were a good guy and would be a safe choice. Like you wouldn’t hurt me or anything,” she says.

“Of course not,” Gendry replies. He steps a little closer. “I’m trying to decide if I should go thank her.”

She smiles up at him, then extends her hand. “I’m Arya,” she says.

“Gendry,” he replies, taking her hand and shaking it. Then neither of them let go.

“Margaery is dating my sister. She’s the stupidly tall, stupidly gorgeous redhead,” Arya says.

Gendry keeps his gaze trained on Arya, finding he is enchanted by her silver-gray eyes. “I hadn’t noticed,” he says, his thumb softly rubbing the skin on the back of her hand.

“Really?” Her reply is so quiet he lip-reads it more than hears it, and he nods.

“Really,” he confirms. “I prefer women who are petite with dark hair and gray eyes, and who are brave about everything except one thing,” he adds.

Her mouth opens, then closes again.

“You want to get out of here?” he asks, and she nods. “Do you need to tell your friends you’re leaving?” he asks.

She shakes her head no. “Nah, they’ll see me. Probably be happy about it, too. Bitches,” she laughs.

Gendry joins her laughter, then lift their joined hands towards his face. Centimeters from his face, he turns it, giving her palm a soft, lingering kiss. “I know a great 24-hour diner not far from here,” he says.

“That sounds amazing,” she replies, intertwining their fingers as they stride past all of their friends towards the doors.


End file.
